Ergence
by Krstee
Summary: Five years after leaving Silent Hill with Laura, James Sunderland returns to South Ashfield. There, he meets Henry Townshend. The two quickly take solace in each other's company, but soon realize that they aren't quite free from Silent Hill's grasp.
1. Divergence

_**AN:  
Hello to everyone reading this/considering reading it. This is the first fanfiction I've done in a number of months. Also, my first Silent Hill fanfiction. As such, let me make a few notes here before you start reading:  
1)The story's protaganists will be James Sunderland and Henry Townshend  
2)The story follows the Leave ending in Silent Hill 2, and Escape ending in Silent Hill 4  
3)The story will start from James' and Henry's first-person perspective, but that could very easily change.  
4)I haven't played Silent Hill 2 for quite a few years, so I may mistake a fact or two. If this happens, let me know and I'll change it as I see fit  
5)The main pairing (since I know that's all any of you really care about) of this story will probably be Henry and James. Since this is a work in progress, I'm not completely certain. I may possibly add Heather x Alex. But if I do, it won't be central to the plot.  
6)I haven't played the original Silent Hill or Origins. I've read up on the first, but there is a very large chance that I'll say something regarding the first that does't parallel with the actual game. Once again, if I do that, please let me know.  
7)There is a plot and thematic message I'm trying to convey. This isn't just senseless romance, so if that's what you're looking for, this story doesn't suit your needs.  
8)I may accidently call Mary Maria sometimes. I apologize if I do that  
9)I make no claims to being an astounding author. That said, I won't be insulted if you want to critiqe my story. Key word there being critique. I'm looking to improve, and flames won't help me there. All they do is make me wish you'd taken that negative energy and structured it into something worthwhile.  
10)Sorry, no Walter guys. He's dead. Deadsies. Full of death.**_

Alright, enjoy!

* * *

Divergence

I can't say what it is that brought me back to South Ashfield. When I originally left, I thought that was that. I'd lived there my entire life. I'd outgrown it.

While those are all valid excuses, they aren't the reasons I left. It was a note I'd received from my deceased wife, Mary. She begged me to meet her in our special place. So, without mentioning anything to my father or any of the friends who had weathered my near-catatonia, I left. I'm certain I could write a long novel on the things that occurred to me while I was there, but I'm certain that anyone reading this will get a clear picture of how neurotic, how unbelievably paranoid I am without me needing to explain what I saw in Silent Hill.

I left Silent Hill with an adopted daughter in tow. I'd never been partial to children or the idea of raising them, but Laura was a special case. A few notes of Mary's that I read led me to realize how close the two had been during Mary's long stay in Silent Hill. I also began to realize that Mary had intended to adopt Laura once she got better. But Mary never did get better. So, despite my hesitance and lack of experience in raising kids, I adopted her and took her with me after leaving the nightmarish town.

We made our way across the lake next to Silent Hill to a small town known as Shepherd's Glen. I didn't have enough money to both get somewhere and rent an apartment, so there we stayed for a year. I rented a shabby, two bedroom apartment on the more run-down side of town and got a job in the grocery store. It may seem like a mediocre living, but I was finally becoming happy. Well, perhaps happy isn't the best word. I was a ways from feeling happy again. But I wasn't wracked with guilt anymore, and I was finally making a living without wishing I would die every single day. Laura went to a nearby school, and things felt almost normal for a while. However, it soon became clear to me how similar the town and its history were to Silent Hill. I can't say I was surprised, being that the towns were so close, and Shepherd's glen had been formed by members of Silent Hill's order. When I finally had a decent amount of money, we left Shepherd's Glen as well.

I suppose it's worth mentioning that Laura has never been too pleased with me. She loved Mary, and still feels that I didn't love her enough. However, I can tell she is at least somewhat appreciative of my taking her away from Silent Hill and giving her a home. She doesn't show it, but I'm certain it's true. Perhaps that's just wishful thinking, since I have nothing to go by, no examples to prove my case. In fact, I have more evidence to give to the other side of that spectrum. She finds every way she can to remind me that she doesn't like me. When I'm lucky, that's just with insults and general degradation. Those I can easily handle. Admittedly I sometimes have to find a dictionary afterwards to find out just what she's called me; she's a very smart girl for her age. She says things that I certainly wouldn't have been able to understand or replicate at that age. When I'm not lucky, she hides important or vital things to me. This usually accounts for my car keys, my cell phone, pictures of my parents, and things like that. I was surprised at first that she never stole my pictures of Mary. They're my most prized possession, after all. I eventually thought that it was one of two reasons. The first, and most likely, was that she absolutely adored Mary. Despite knowing the suffering it would cause me, I think that she never took the pictures because she couldn't imagine desecrating something of Mary. The latter explanation being that she knew that while I'm generally a calm, forgiving person, losing a picture of Mary would be more than enough to send me over the edge. Everything else in the apartment was fair game though.

As I said, we eventually left Shepherd's Glen. It was peaceful and beautiful, but I still have a good feeling that it's going the same way that Silent Hill did. With it being so deeply rooted to the other town and the Order, I don't see how it's possible to not. Before that happened, we left. The three years following that we moved around. I believe in that time I began to become happier. Had I been any other person, I may not have been. But after finally overcoming my guilt, shame, depression, and sorrow, anything felt better to me—any change welcome. My main problem was always getting and hanging onto a job. My first job at Shepherd's Glen had been easy. I'd quickly befriended a woman in the town who'd secured the job for me. Everywhere else wasn't so easy. They all expected references, applications, experience, and life stories. The only reference I was willing to give was to the grocery store, which was hardly applicable in any of the jobs I wanted. Applications and experiences were equally difficult, but the true no-man's-land for me were the life stories. Any interview I went to, I was expected to give detailed explanations for my jobs. They wanted to know why I only had one reference and past job on my reference—one that had only lasted a year. In my mid-thirties, it was near impossible to pretend as though I was young enough to have just moved out. I would explain that I had worked under my dad before that. They would ask why I hadn't put him down, and if they could call them. I would say no and they would ask why. I would have to say that I'd lost contact with my dad, didn't want to speak with him, and didn't want him to know where I was. Once again, they would ask why. They would ask me to tell them why I had left a stable home-life and I would tell them it was because my wife had died. I always left out the part about the note she'd sent. When they asked what she'd died of, I never knew what to say. I wasn't eager to tell them that I had suffocated her after growing tired of not having a life because of her terminal illness and I wasn't eager to lie. I couldn't lie about it. So I'd usually just say that she had a terminal illness and leave it at that. Needless to say, there were other strange gray areas of my life that I left unanswered. They were all suspicious of me and skeptical of the past I refused to expose. Most of them probably thought I was a bit insane, and I can't say they were wrong. I had a few jobs that usually paid the rent, but it was never enough.

Laura went to school with cheap clothes and she was spiteful to me because of it. We moved around a lot as well, from shabby apartment to shabby apartment. As I said, any normal person wouldn't have been happy. We were barely living above the poverty line, but I was enjoying it. I liked going to work and finally having a purpose. Laura finally announced that enough was enough. She wanted to go to South Ashfield. I had been fool enough to tell her a bit about my past. I told her about my father, the superintendent of an apartment complex, who I'd always worked with, and who always left the biggest apartment in the building open for me for free rent.

I was nervous to go back. Not nervous about facing my father, but about facing my memories. I first told her that I didn't want to go back because there was too much pain there. My father, the home I had once lived in, Mary's grave; I told her that I wouldn't be able to stand living with all those memories. The truth wasn't quite as justifiable. I had spent my entire life there. Everything about my past was there. Where I'd grown up, where I'd gone to school, where I'd gotten married, where I'd worked, where my wife had been buried. In my mind, I had actually connected my past and all of its negative connotations to that town. I felt that moving out and away from the town would somehow make me feel as though I was finally growing—as if going back to that town meant that I was only regressing back into my past patterns, and into the man I had once been.

But Laura was right. We couldn't live like this. No, that isn't correct. We could've, but she wouldn't have been happy, and despite the way she regarded me, she'd become the most important part of my life. She was my last link to Mary, and the last year before her death. Not to mention that I hadn't really been functioning as a normal person myself. I obsessed over work and trying to give Laura things. Subconsciously I knew that I couldn't truly be happy, but managed to convince myself that in making Laura happy, I might be able to feed off of that. So for the four years after Shepherd's Glen, I was almost a hermit. I had almost no social interaction with anyone besides Laura, no goals of my own, and my sex life was absolutely barren. I don't want to seem like some sex-craving pervert, but take any man of 35 and I can guarantee you that they'd react with nothing short of shock or horror if told that another man their age had gone without sex for five years.

The following three days we drove back to South Ashfield, only stopping to sleep, get gas, and eat. I never called my dad to tell him that we were coming back. In my family, we weren't really big on making plans. We just sort of showed up where we wanted and expected the other to accept it. In retrospect, I should've called my dad. This wasn't like a quick holiday visit to my cousin Alex; this was me coming home after practically disappearing for five years with an adopted daughter. Actually, to this day my dad thinks that Laura is actually mine and Mary's daughter. I had almost corrected him, but Laura didn't want me to. She made a point of letting me know that it certainly had nothing to do with wanting to seem like my actual child, but that she wanted people to think that she was Mary's daughter.

Where was I? Ah, we came back to South Ashfield, parked outside of my father's complex, and walked into the main lobby. The receptionist up front gawked at me when I entered. She'd been working there since I was a child—I assume she recognized me. I pointedly ignored her and walked over to my father's office with Laura. The only way I can express his reaction was comical, though I feel a bit heartless saying it that way. An old man reuniting with his long lost son of five years, and I explain the heart-felt reunion as comical. No way to help it, that's just the way I saw it. He didn't even notice Laura for quite some time. He first stared at me unblinkingly, his mouth open in a gape. I noticed then that the once meticulously clean-shaven man looked gruffer. I can't tell if it was only the stubble, or if it was more than that. I had remembered a pleasant-faced, somewhat stern looking man. I came back to a worn, tired looking man. Wrinkles creased his face in more areas than I had remembered. His skin looked leathery because of that. Still, that face reminds me of the old, musty book in the library that no one has bothered to touch in years, with its cracked leather spine and once golden title now to worn and dusted over to see. In the same way, he looked emaciated. Sallow, parchment-looking skin draped over his sturdy facial structure. At least one part of him became reminiscent as he looked at me: his eyes. They had looked glazed-over when I'd first entered. When he finally recognized me, they came to life with the same exuberance I had once admired.

As for the comical reaction, it was the different stages that truly made it hilarious. First there was complete shock. Silence also. Then there was absolute joy. He smiled and ran from his desk faster than a man his age should've been able to move. He closed the gap between us and embraced me. He felt thin and frail in my arms. Then crying. They were first tears of happiness as he embraced me as if letting go meant that I would disappear again. His words were muffled with his face pressed so close to my forest-green coat, but I caught that he'd missed me (so much), and that he was so happy to see me. After telling him that I'd missed him too came anger and pain. I had been used to guilt, but hadn't felt it as strong as I did then in the five years after Silent Hill. He wanted to know where and why I'd gone, and I wanted to tell him. Unfortunately, there was no way I could. What could I have said? 'Sorry, dad. I went to Silent Hill to kill myself, but before I did, my mind snapped and I instead convinced myself that I'd gotten a posthumous letter from Mary who'd supposedly been dead for three years, ran around the town finding clues, learned the truth, and battled with monsters that had been conjured up from my own subconscious mind'? As much as my dad loves me, he's a realistic man. For as long as I've known him, I've always known him to have about as great an imagination as an accountant who spends all of his free time figuring out logarithms—if that's even a correct math term. Math never was my strong point… the point of this being that my dad never would've believed me. Who could? So I instead told him that one day the depression became too much. That one day, I was either going to have to kill myself or leave town. He understood and forgave me.

The whole thing still feels unresolved. Life has gone on, but there wasn't any closure. My dad was once the closest person to me—I'd always told him everything. Somehow knowing that those years of my life are a lie always lingering over us doesn't sit well with me. There's nothing I can do about it.

He met and loved Laura, who put on a lovely show as a well behaved 13 year old, and my father gave us the keys to our new apartment. It'd been mine during college, and I'd always loved it. It felt more like a home as the only two story apartment in the entire complex. It was on the top and middle floor, had three bedrooms, two bathrooms, a living room, a study, a kitchen, and a dining room. All fully furnished to my father's taste. That quickly changed after we moved in though, thanks to Laura.

After that, life finally did begin to feel normal. I got a job working under my dad's best friend both bar-tending and working as the bar's financial manager, Laura went to the local school, and I started making a few friends. No close friends, but at least I was finally starting to talk to people. After two weeks of living in my new apartment, I had sex with one of my drunken coworkers. This may not be a notable feat to you, but I assure you it felt like I'd made it over a hurtle after that. Nothing became of it, though she very clearly hoped that something would. She was a sweet girl… but I wasn't looking for a relationship. The thought of a relationship hadn't even occurred to me in years. I'd been desperate for a lay, but a relationship was out of the question. Maybe it was just that I hadn't met the right person. I still think that it had more to deal with what had happened to me. I didn't feel right willingly entering a relationship without being able to let them know what had happened and, subsequently, why I am the way I am. I didn't want to subjugate anyone to the neurotic mess that is James Sunderland without letting them know what they're up against first.

About a month after my initial move in, I was in the lobby of the apartment complex waiting for Laura to get back from school. I think I had some sort of appointment to take her to and had grown restless waiting in my room. Either way, I remember it was a warm summer August day. South Ashfield usually has cold weather, and I remember the change was nice. Rather than my burly coat, I was wearing a plain gray, partial-button up long-sleeve shirt over a black tee-shirt along with some dark blue jeans. I've never been a fashion monger, but I know what looks good on me. I like to wear plain clothes to accentuate the light green of my eyes. Unfortunately there's not as much going for me in the hair department. I've always had straw-blonde hair that I keep considerably well-tamed and short. I'm not degrading myself based on my hair or anything ridiculous like that; it just isn't something that particularly stands out on me.

In the lobby, I tried to engage the woman in the lobby. She, however, was too caught up trying pretend to be busy. She wasn't even doing it in a discreet, believable way. I was glad when my dad finally walked in. We had idle conversation for a bit, but both of them suddenly stopped what they were doing when someone else walked out of the elevator. I looked over to see what had startled them so much. All I saw was a normal looking man. An attractive man, certainly, but nothing dazzling. He had long, dark brown hair, and matching eyes. I remember he looked pretty fatigued—and had the 5 o'clock shadow to prove it. He looked indifferently at the three of us, as if he didn't know that we were staring. I wondered if they were staring at him for the way he was dressed? He was dressed nicer than any of us with a sky-blue, button up shirt and light blue jeans with what looked like leather shoes. When I did realize that I'd been staring, I lifted my hand, offered a small half-smile, and waved. He smiled back with a bit of an effort and nodded back at me. Then, just like that, he left the building.

With him gone, my curiosity got the better of me. I've never been one for subtlety, so I simply jumped straight into the interrogation.  
"Who was that?"  
I first asked. I looked over at the woman and my father and awaited an answer. My father looked out the glass of the door to make sure that the man was completely out of ear-shot before looking back at me.  
"Henry Townshend. Room 302."  
I had thought that with the secrecy he'd utilized in answering the question, he'd elaborate past that. I was expecting him to tell me that the man was a registered pedophile, or at least something more than his room number.  
"Why did you both…"  
I began, but my dad interjected,  
"You should stay away from him, James. He's strange."  
I was about to comment that I wasn't five and he didn't need to tell me who and who not to befriend, but he continued,  
"About five months before you came back here, something happened to him. Suddenly one day, he just locked himself in his room. Didn't come out for weeks either."  
My dad paused, but I didn't say anything. There isn't anything inherently strange about locking yourself in your room, so I assumed he'd continue.  
"When he finally did come out, it was like he'd just been freed from prison. I asked him what had happened, and he told me some fairy-tale. Said that his room had been completely chained in from the inside and his windows wouldn't open. Then get this! Poor asshole told me that suddenly a hole formed in the wall, and he crawled through to some other world!"  
My dad laughed at that, but I'd fallen silent. I remembered reading on one of the wall's in Silent Hill 'There should be a hole here'. My father either didn't notice or didn't care, because he continued with his story.  
"He claimed to have witnessed the deaths of all of Walter Sullivan's copy-cat killer by crawling through the hole over and over again. Said it was the real Walter Sullivan, even though that guy killed himself in his jail cell years ago. I think the guy just did some research on Walter, because he found out that the kid had been raised in Silent Hill's Wish House."  
The mention of Silent Hill made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. On the outside, I kept a calm, even complacent look as I listened on. Inside, however, my heart was fluttering with each word my father said. To him, he was retelling the story of a mad-man. To me, he was telling what had happened to another unfortunate soul who'd been a victim of the town and its cult.  
"He thinks that he saved the girl who'd lived next to him, found the body of Walter, and stopped him before he was able to resurrect the holy mother or some bull like that. Oh! And that Walter thought the room was his mom. Weird stuff. Think the kid lost his mind for a while or something."  
I'd stopped listening for a moment, thinking of the best way I could meet this guy.

Finally, I'd found someone I could talk to, and who would understand me. Not only that, but someone who I could learn from and trust to not see my story as the raving of a lunatic. At that moment, I didn't care what kind of a personality Henry had. I didn't care if he was mute, actually. I was overjoyed to know that I would finally be able to talk to someone. Maybe I was just excited because I knew that talking to someone who could relate to me and what had happened to me would make me feel valid again. I knew that what had happened to me was true, but knowing that someone would finally agree with me was incredible.

I considered running after Henry and demanding that we talk later but decided against it. Laura was going to be coming soon, and it would look odd to my dad if I ran after someone he considered to be a lunatic.

I finally had a goal—the first one I'd had in years: Find Henry Townshend.


	2. Submergence

_**AN:**_

Chapter Two.

This chapter will be from Henry's perspective. I'm trying to make James' and Henry's perspectives noticeably different, but it is a bit difficult. Partially because of my writing style, and partially because the two are fairly similar.  
The main differences will probably be in vocabulary and reactions.

In case anyone is interested in knowing, I will update on Tuesdays. Most likely at some unreasonable hour of the morning. Such as this one, which I'll probably get out at around 2 a.m.

Also, if anyone is unsure of how I'm trying to portray a character, I've made lists for the personality traits and demeanors of Henry, James, and Laura. Not that I'm going to post them here, but if you have a dying urge to read it, I can send it to you.

Also, this is the shortest chapter thus far. And I know to you that only means two chapters, but I've actually already finished four chapters. You all just have to wait for next Tuesday, hahaha.

Okay, last note before I move to reviews. Actually, it regards my responses to reviews. I'm very appreciative of any praise you send my way, but I'll only respond to critiques or anything I feel necessary. That said, thank you all for both the praise and critiques!

**Now, to respond to the issues mentioned**:

-_Paragraph lengths_: I suppose I can see what you two mean, I'll try and cut them down. However, I make paragraphs based on what information or dialogue are meant to go together. Things feel more coherent to me tha way.

-_Alignment_: You're right. I should've converted it when moving it to FF. I'm not sure why, but it's much easier for me to write with center-alignment.

-_Clothing descriptions_: I normally try and stray away from describing clothes as well. The only reason I mention it is because I want to give James and Henry tiny, almost unnoticeable things in common. I decided that a slight sense of clothing taste could be one. Or rather, just that they both notice what other people (and themselves) wear, and how it's a reflection on who they are and how others view them. Henry more-so than James.

-_Heather x Alex_: I mean pairing-wise. But even if that does happen, which it probably won't, it'll come much, much later. And I only use Alex because he's the only other open Silent Hill protagonist besides Harry Mason, and I don't think Heather is into necrophile incest. And Travis. But I don't like Travis/I haven't played Origins. Also, I haven't quite beaten Silent Hill 3 yet, so I'm going to try and do that before I throw her into the story. Either way, they're both going to be in Silent Hill at one point—and I didn't like Elle in Homecoming, so she gets no part in my story.

-_The hole quote_: Thank you!! I couldn't remember exactly what it said (I haven't played SH2 for a few years now), and I couldn't find it online. I'll change that as soon as I can.

-_The mobled queen_: You get your own little bit so I can tell you how hard the first part of your critique made me laugh. Which is both a good and bad thing. I have a terrible sore throat, so laughter currently causes me quite a bit of pain.

**_A_ note for everyone**_:_  
I'm so surprised there are people besides me who like the pairing of James and Henry! It's always made sense to me, but I wasn't certain anyone would see it that way. Either way, thanks so much for the support, praise, and advice! I can only hope that I can make the story, characters, and relationship between the two believable. Parts of it I will admit may get boring in the beginning, but that's because I'm trying to write about two guys who are trying to regress to normal lives. It'll get more exciting later, I promise.

* * *

**_Submergence_**

I should explain, before I say anything else, that I'm not crazy. I'm actually one of the most normal people I know. I don't do strange things and I've never stood out. I make an effort not to. I prefer staying unseen. You know, not largely prevalent either way? I've always been contentedly average. I don't have any sob story about how I was abused as a child that explains why I like to remain inconspicuous, either. I had a normal childhood, aside from being picked on and never really having too many friends. I had average grades. In all ways, I was normal. My few friends did care for me, but people didn't pay attention to me otherwise. I wasn't nerdy enough to warrant any attention from the jocks, and I was never motivated enough to try and fit in with the popular kids.

I always straddled the fence in a sense. I liked the middle ground—it was safe. The only thing that I ever excelled in was photography. So, when I was fired from my job in Barrowsfield, the town I'd spent my entire life in, I finally felt that it was time for a change. Being me, I wasn't looking for a change in climate or anything extreme; I just wanted a change in demographic. I just wanted to be in a new place with new people.

So began my new life; my normal, perhaps even boring life. I was a photographer for a local paper, paid my bills on time, and even had a few girlfriends and one boyfriend.

Besides the bisexuality, I was completely normal in all aspects. With that said, something extraordinary did happen to me—something that I once told someone with negative results. In my defense, I told him right after it happened. Once I explain what happened to me, it should be obvious why I told him in such a feverish frenzy. I didn't think then that anyone wouldn't believe me. Now the story I told has been spread from person to person, changing ever so slightly with each retelling. Not that it matters how it changes, because I seem equally insane with each version.

Suddenly I wasn't Henry Townshend, the man who you were slightly acquainted with and knew to be a generally pleasant if not somewhat stoic man—I was Henry Townshend, the man who'd locked himself in his room for a couple of weeks, lost his mind for no good reason, and fabricated a tale that could've come straight from a fucking Brothers Grimm story.

I lost my job because of it, and all of my friends. I wish Eileen would've come back after her hospital stay—she experienced most of it with me and knew it to be true. I still keep in contact with her, but she refuses to come back. I don't really blame her. The damn building itself nearly killed the both of us with some help from Walter Sullivan. Or I guess it's more accurate to say that Walter Sullivan nearly killed the both of us trying to resurrect what he thought to be his mother: my room. He grew up in this place called 'Wish House'. It was owned by The Order, a cult with basis in Silent Hill. Someone there told him that the room was his mother, and he believed it. He spent the rest of his life focusing on a section of The Order's holy documents called 'The 21 Sacraments', or the resurrection of the Holy Mother. Walter misinterpreted it and thought that by completing it he could purify and resurrect his mother, which I will reiterate, was my room.

This is why I felt compelled to mention that I'm not crazy, because the story of what happened to me is. I shouldn't have told anyone. No one of sound mind would believe me. Although it does upset me, I know why no one believed me. It's ridiculous, impossible even, for anyone who hadn't either been to Silent Hill or at least studied it to even fathom what I was saying.

People ostracized me after I finally escaped my room. Most thought I was a ticking time bomb of insanity. I'd already lost it once, and they didn't want to be around the next time it happened. I even heard through the vine that one of my friends was afraid that if she hung out with me, I may lose my mind and lock her in my room with me next time it happened. I almost thought about really doing it for a laugh. The only thing that stopped me was the fact that I'd probably go to jail if I did that… or an insane asylum.

I couldn't hug the walls anymore and stay out of people's attention. I tried to act like it didn't bother me in the hopes that things would eventually die down, but I had no such luck. Sure, people eventually stopped running out of rooms the second I entered them; that was of little condolence to me. No one talked to me besides Eileen, and that was a small comfort when done over the phone. I thought about moving away like she had done, but I didn't have enough money to move out and settle somewhere else. Like I said, I had enough to pay for the rent and food, but that was it. Even that was beginning to become hard. I was fired from the job I'd been making my living on. Instead, I began work in a modeling agency. Not as a model, thank God, but as a professional photographer. That was under the condition that I stayed strictly professional and never ever mentioned anything about myself. All I was allowed to give was my name. I have no doubt that my boss thought I was crazy, but I am a skilled photographer. Apparently that just barely overshadowed my insanity enough for him.

I guess I don't need to mention that things were strictly business between the two of us. Besides Eileen, I barely had any human interaction. The people who did approach me often just did so to ask for the story. I rarely told it to them. They all just looked at me like I was the fucking bearded lady on display in the carnival. No one believed me, no one understood me, and no one treated me like a normal human being.

I'd never felt so completely isolated. I just wanted someone who could listen to what I said with something other than disbelief or obscure fascination. I wanted someone to hear what I said and not pity me because they think I'm insane, but pity me because of what I'd gone through at the hands of Walter. And even though I knew it was unrealistic, what I wanted the most was for someone who not only believed me, but who I could discuss Silent Hill with.

That desire stayed as nothing more than a lurking wish for quite some time—right along with my desire to find someone to date. Had Eileen not moved away, I would've asked her to date me. The problem for once wasn't my lack of fortitude and self-confidence, but that I couldn't bring myself to try it. Why would I? If I could even find someone who could look past my supposed craziness, I wouldn't be able to love someone who didn't believe me when I told them about the most incredible experience of my life.

For once though, I was pleasantly surprised when my expectations were proven wrong. I met James Sunderland, though met isn't really the right world. I was on my way to work when I saw him. I stepped out of the elevator and looked over at the receptionist. As always, she was gawking at me. Frank Sunderland was there too, giving me a look somewhere between fear and disgust. I stared indifferently at them, hoping that they would see I was unbothered. The third person there was James. I'd seen a picture of him in the super's office once. He was the son who'd been missing for five years. I didn't think much of it at first. The lives of my neighbors and super had never been relevant to me. I knew that there was quite a complex web of deceit and betrayal between all of them, but I did my best to avoid it. Especially after coming back from the twisted version of my apartment complex after crawling through the hole in my bathroom and learning what had happened to Mike. Poor Mike…

James smiled and waved at me. It was one of those friendly actions that most people take for granted. After months of silent, fearful stares, and nothing more than awkward waves when I was lucky, it was a welcome gesture. I smiled back and left. I would've walked over to talk to him but knew there was no use in doing so. The moment I left, I knew his father would tell them why they hadn't greeted me.

I went to work and didn't think any more of it for the rest of the day. One more person who thought I was crazy was nothing to me.


	3. Convergence

**AN:**Chapter 3

It would appear to be Tuesday again, which means I owe you all a chapter.

Now, before I bring up anything else, I will update next week, but I may need to skip a week after that. I'm actually replaying Silent Hill 2 now so I can get James' character down to a more solid level, so that's taking up a lot of my free time. Mind you, I shouldn't say replay, because this is my first time playing Silent Hill 2. Before you panic and accuse me of having started the story knowing nothing of James, I watched my brother play SH2 about 5 or so years ago. I tried to play it then, but the controls were too hard for me and I was too scared. Even two years ago the Silent Hill games were too scary for me when I tried to play four. Only very recently have I been able to play them and not be shaking in fear after three minutes of it. So, I've beaten 4 and homecoming now, still pretty behind in three, and am in the hospital in SH2 right now. I still remember most of the plot events of SH2 and what James was like but, as I said, I want it to be fresh in my mind.

Pyramid Head is most definitely not fun to deal with, by the way. When he held that door shut on me and then opened it when I was far away, and then pushed me off of the roof… oh the fear. I screamed. I've always appreciated him and what he stands for/represents, but only now do I truly fear him as he should be feared. Watching Silent Hill is not the same experience as playing it, I'll tell you that.

Wow, how's tangent time? I love it. I'll make the next comments brief and stop wasting your time:

**To respond to the issues mentioned:**

-The 'skinned mike' incident: You know, I had thought he had been killed. I know that Walter had fabricated it to be worse than it actually was (meaning that it was very clear that he hadn't actually been skinned), but I did think that Richard had killed him. Hmmm. This may be a good time to say that all I'm writing about is from my own experience with the games, and very minimal research on the internet or in Lost Memories. Mostly meaning that I will probably make many more small errors like this one, and the quote about the hole. Thanks for calling me on them!

-The Spade: Is that the super goofy shovel that makes Henry run like he's a runway model? If so, I may just have to find a place for it in my story. Or maybe the pickaxe of despair, because of how hard of a time Henry had wielding it.__

* * *

Convergence

Despite the conviction with which I set out to find Henry, a week passed and I still hadn't found him. A few of those days I'd walked around the third floor with the hope that he might come out of his room so that I could conveniently walk past him and start up a conversation, but it never happened. I should've knocked on his door from the start, but I was too nervous. Of what, I'm not actually sure. I think it had just been too long since I'd made such an effort to get to know someone. All of the current friends I'd made had all come to me. Also, I had never really desired to meet any of them--it just happened.

But Henry was the only person I really wanted to make a good impression on. After all, not only was he the only person I thought I could finally be fully open with, he was a person I had to admire for his courage. Everyone knew what had happened to him. I don't mean to say that I find him intelligent for telling people, no; I find him quite stupid for thinking that anyone would believe him. What I do admire is the way that he deals with the isolation people subjugate him to. Rather than lie to earn back his reputation, he suffers.

I began to feel like a stalker. When I wasn't at work or watching Laura, I was either walking around the third floor or thinking of elaborate schemes to meet him. Schemes that I might mention were too complex and absurd to ever actually work.

-----

I woke up on the last Saturday morning of the month later than I normally did. I slowly cracked my bleary eyes open, but immediately regretted the action and closed them again with a grumble. The way I was laying, the retina-scarring rays of the rising sun fell right onto my face through the cracks in the window-blinds. I curled my body into a fetal position and turned around. In contrast to the affect the light had on my eyes, it was warm on my naked back, causing me to shudder at its almost unnoticeable touch. I kept telling myself that I needed to reorganize my room for that purpose.

I awoke a while later with a shock at a sudden knock at my door. Out of habit or instinct, I couldn't quite say which, I immediately bolted into a seated position and pulled the covers resting on my knees to my chest. I was glad Laura had actually knocked for once, or she would've found me in a compromising position. I wasn't terribly virile in clutching the blanket to my naked chest like I was trying to hide myself.

After collecting my nerves shortly later, I got out of bed. More for Laura's sake than my own, I picked up a stray pair of jeans and threw them on. I wonder what it would've been like if I'd answered the door with only my boxer-briefs on. The look she gave me just without a shirt was funny enough. I wonder if she actually would've screamed at seeing me only in my underwear.

She hastily turned away with her eyes scrunched together. I managed a bemused chuckle, and to not say something along the lines of, 'What, Laura? Never seen a sexy man without his shirt on before?' but managed to refrain. She probably would've had a clever retort anyways, and I wasn't in the mood for self-deprecation.

Still looking away, she finally spoke to me,  
"There's someone in the kitchen who wants to talk to you."  
I shot her a quizzical look,  
"You shouldn't answer the door when I'm not around. What if…"  
As she so often did, Laura knew what I was getting at and interjected,  
"It was some big, strange man who kidnapped me?"  
She rolled her eyes,  
"First of all, you know I can take care of myself. Secondly, I invited him over here."

That was the part that stopped me in my train of thought. I stood leaning against my door-frame for a moment. I was suddenly aware of the state I was in. Apparently I was about to meet someone and I'd just woken up. I nodded, told her I'd be out in a second and to tell them to wait. I ducked back into my room and closed the door. I realized that I should've asked Laura who it was. Was it the principal of her school? Was it her boyfriend? Wait… did she have a boyfriend? If she did, how was I supposed to act? I had no idea on how to give advice about dating boys! Or was it someone I worked with?

With the multitude of questions running through my mind unanswered, I desperately scanned my eyes along my disheveled room. It was cluttered with books, papers, and clothing that I hadn't quite had the time to put away. I was unsure how I ought to dress. I took a quick look at the luminescent red lines that made up the numbers of my alarm clock. It was 8 a.m., and that calmed me considerably. Whoever it was, I doubted it was business related. That in mind, I settled on a semi-formal, button-up shirt. I rolled the cuffs up to sit just above my elbows and looked at myself in the mirror. It wasn't my usual, plain style of clothing, but I guess it looked alright—even a bit metro. I briefly considered putting on shoes, but decided that if someone was waiting for me to wake-up, they weren't expecting me to be clean-cut and formal. Besides, who wears shoes in their own home?

Laura eventually yelled at me to hurry my ass up. I gave up my search for a matching pair of socks and conceded to her wishes. It took me a moment to navigate my way through the study and kitchen to the dining room.

I shouldn't have expected a pleasant surprise, being that it is Laura who had prepared said surprise for me. I didn't think she'd actually been watching me, though. Or even that she'd been paying attention to me. I can't actually ever remember mentioning anything about Henry Townshend to her.

Somehow that I'll never know, she knew about my fascination with him. I know that she had no idea why; she just saw it as a way to torture me more.

I locked eyes with the man sitting at my table. For once, it was my turn to be shocked. My mouth hung open in a slight gape, to which he chuckled.  
"Hey. James, right?"  
He asked. I nodded, completely dumfounded. I can only imagine the smug look Laura was wearing as she spoke next,  
"He's been wanting to talk to you for a while now. He's just too much of a pussy to actually say anything."

I felt ridiculous. Not only because of what Laura was saying, but because I couldn't defend myself. If I did, I'd be partially lying to start, and look like an idiot for fighting with a child. My own daughter, nonetheless.

I turned to scowl at her with this knowledge in mind. I expected her to be smiling with false innocence when I turned around, much the same as she'd used when around my dad, but she smiled back with perfect venom.  
"I like him. He's the only adult in this town who's greeted me with something other than 'Awwh! What a cute little girl!'"  
That made both me and Henry chuckle. I'm not sure why Henry laughed. He had no idea just how angry Laura got when she was belittled or judged for her age. The people who did greet her by calling her cute often found laxatives in their drinks later, or something else equally unpleasant.  
"Well then, I'm off to school now."  
Laura announced to us. For the sake of not seeming awkward, the both of us watched Laura as she grabbed her back-pack and sack lunch.  
"See you later, Henry! Oh, and you can thank me later, James."  
She sent me a knowing smirk and walked out the front door to my apartment.

I've never been known as a social person. It isn't that I'm one of those reclusive introverts, I'm just not chatty. My worst points being small talk and starting conversations—the two things I needed for this conversation.

I sat down in the chair across from Henry and winced when it squeaked. He chuckled softly, probably more at the awkward anxiety of the situation than the actual noise. I scrambled around a slew of different possible starting questions before finally settling on one.  
"So… Laura just went to your apartment and brought you here?"  
I knew it was a large avoidance from the subject matter both of us were interested in, but I wanted to start things at least somewhat pleasantly. He smiled and nodded as he leaned against the back of the wooden chair.  
"Yeah. Good thing she caught me while I was tired, or I probably would've called her cute."  
I chuckled back,  
"So she woke you up? I'm sorry about that."  
He held up one hand and shook his head, as if to show that he took no offense.  
"Don't worry. It was nice to have a chance to talk to her."  
I thought I caught an underlying tone of loneliness in his voice but didn't mention it.  
He looked back up at me and stared into my eyes. I broke the eye contact without a second thought. I pretended to be interested in the wall trimmings and hoped that he would look away. As childish as it may sound, eye contact makes me awkward nowadays. I didn't mean to upset Henry, I just hadn't made eye contact in years. I did sometimes with Laura, but that wasn't the same. There's something familiar between us, where we don't need to worry about eye-contact or forming close connections in that way. When Henry looked into my eyes, it felt invasive—as if in doing such, he was reading into my soul. As I said, it was a childish, embarrassing notion, but I couldn't help myself at the time.  
"But…"  
Henry finally continued after the short pause. I could tell he was still looking at me, so I looked back over. Instead of his eyes, I focused on his lips. It's a bit strange how obsessive I was feeling, especially about something as simple as where to place my eyes.  
"She told me that you'd been wanting to talk to me?"  
His tone of voice was a bit irritating. It seemed as if he thought he was talking to a child; which is a bit strange, since the man looked quite a bit younger than I. I decided to overlook the tone in light of the situation at hand,  
"I have. Ever since I saw you in the lobby."  
It felt a bit creepy leaving it at that so I continued,  
"My dad told me what happened to you…"  
He sighed and shook his head.  
"Just stop there."  
He muttered, his tone suddenly dark. He stood up from the chair and glowered down at me. I finally returned his eye-contact, hoping I could somehow understand what was going through his mind.  
"I already know what you want. I'm not telling my story again just so one more person can laugh at me."  
Henry's way of speaking was strange to me. I could tell through the context of his words that he was upset, but his inflection hardly changed.

He pushed in his chair with a scowl on his face and made to walk out. I scowled back and grabbed his arm. I wasn't actually terribly insulted, but knew that the only way I could get him to stay was if I could prove the intensity of my words.  
"No, you don't!"  
I said, the inflection in my voice rising. Maybe I was just mad that he'd judged me before I could even put a word in. Maybe I was mad that so many people had judged him, that he didn't see any point in trying to trust someone new. All I know was that I was mad, and I wasn't letting him out of my apartment until I'd said what I wanted to.  
"If you think I've been practically stalking you for the last week just to get my laughs at your expense, then you're wrong!"

We both glared at each other for a moment. I wasn't sure if he was angrier that I'd physically assaulted him, or that I'd admitted that I'd stalked him. Or maybe he just thought I was pretending to care so he would trust me. I don't know the exact reason, but he eventually sat down again. The tension around the room was practically tangible for a while. I sat back down in my seat and looked at him. He was staring back at me, obviously waiting for me to say something.

I sighed. I've never been terribly great with words. My exclamations had come easily, but now I actually had to think and put my thoughts into words.  
"Look. I…"  
I paused. I didn't know whether I should apologize or if I was supposed to say something about how I understood his pain. Did I? I'd felt more than enough pain in my life, but not the same type as he was feeling.  
"I believe you."  
I looked back up at him, and was relieved to see that his glare had dissipated—only to be replaced with a skeptical look.  
"No… it's more than that. I understand what you went through. It was Walter Sullivan, right? I never met him, but I know that he killed himself in jail after killing Billy and Miriam Locane. Right? I found a newspaper article about him when I was in Silent Hill."  
I wasn't really sure what I was saying, or where I was going with it. I just wanted him to know that I had seen the horrors of Silent Hill. I wanted to be able to talk to him… maybe share stories of what had happened to us. I feel a bit selfish, but I didn't want to talk with him to confirm his reality. I wanted to hear what he had to say to confirm mine. That, and I so desperately wanted a friend that I could tell everything to. Maybe in that way I'd finally have someone who would listen to me and not think I was crazy.  
"I know everyone thinks you're crazy, but I know what you've been through. I went to Silent Hill… as strange as it sounds, the town almost called me there. If I'm right, then I'm guessing you saw all kinds of monsters too, right? It sounds like your situation was different than mine… but I guess I… well, I just thought… you might want to talk to someone who won't treat you like a mental case as much as I want to?"  
I was expecting Henry to smile and tell me how glad he was. I know that if he had come up to me first and let me know that he thought I wasn't crazy, I definitely would've. At the very least I thought he might show some sign of relief.

Instead, he just shut his eyes for a moment before opening them and looking at my clock. For the first time since we'd talked, I caught a definite change in his voice. It wasn't the elation I had prepared for, but nervousness.  
"I have to go to work."  
Was all he managed to stammer before he quite literally ran out of my apartment room.

He left me sitting there in complete shock, just listening to the reverberation that the slammed door had caused. I stared at the door for a while, half expecting him to run back through. When I finally collected my senses, I realized I was angry. I was downright furious that he'd reacted that way. I'm sure he didn't realize just how hard it was for someone like me to be open about that, and how vulnerable it left me, but it hurt.

What hurt the most, I think, was knowing that my one chance of talking to someone who could understand or validate me had just run out of my front door.

I sat at that kitchen table for a while—how long exactly, I'm not sure. I stewed in my vexation as I tried to collect my thoughts. I tried to figure out why he'd left. Was it something I'd said? Was it something about me? Something about him?

It irritated me for a long while. I thought that it would subside within a few moments, but it didn't. I'm not one to harbor feelings of resentment to someone I barely know, which added a feeling of confusion to my anger. It was a complex feeling that I'm not sure I could describe. A part of me was scared. The last time I'd felt resentful towards someone… I still haven't forgiven myself for what I did.

I was frustrated, but I wasn't sure if it was at him or myself.

That question drove me crazy during the hours before I had to go to work. I actually went into work three hours early to escape my restless mind. Work at least gave me a distraction, but it was hard to shake the feeling of disillusionment.


	4. Emergence

_**AN:  
**_  
Not much to say this time around. I beat Silent Hill 2, and it was as incredible as I remembered. I played it with a friend there for the majority of it. In the end, she felt horrible for Mary, while I felt horrible for James. They both had legitimate reasons to be bitter, but I sympathize more with James since his bitterness was a direct effect of Mary's.

Also: This part is Henry's view on the events. Let me clarify by saying that not all chapters will be like these last two. As systematic and well ordered as doing two chapters for both of their vantage points would be, it'd be too much work. As well, it'd be too much reading. Sometimes I will do both sides, but for the most part, you'll only get one. Or maybe an entire scene will play out once, but I'll switch vantage points throughout it.

**To respond to some of the reviews:**  
_-In regards to Travis: _Egggh. I don't know anything about Travis, besides the fact that he stayed in Silent Hill for no real reason after arriving (besides to look for a girl he didn't know, but that's ridiculous in my opinion. Anyone would run as far away from Silent Hill as they could unless they had a real reason to stay. Like, Harry looking for his daughter, James looking for his wife, etc.), is a trucker, and must be somewhere around 50 years old now. I mean, at the end of that game, Cheryl has just been reborn, right? So then we factor in about 5 years until the events of silent hill, then another 15-17 for the events of Silent Hill 3. And then if we add in the extra five years for this story, and assume that Travis was somewhere between 20-30 in origins, he'd be somewhere between 45 and 57. But he will be a part of this story. Just a very, very small part.  
_-Heather being awesome like rainbow cake-_ I full heartedly agree  
_-Henry's panicked reaction- _See, now you're all making me feel bad. Three chapters in, and I'm already not only upsetting people, but almost making them cry?  
_-Jimbo's war cry-_ Who's Jimbo? Keep in mind, I've only completely beaten Silent Hill 2, 4, and homecoming; so if he's from Silent Hill, 3, or origins, than I wouldn't know him. That said, I'm playing through number 3 right now, so no spoilers just yet.

Thank you all so much for your reviews! Honestly, when I went to the Silent Hill Fanfiction front page and saw that there were 10+ chapter stories with one or two reviews, I was prepared to be writing solely for myself. I'm extremely pleased to see that other people are enjoying it as well. Funnily enough, I probably wouldn't have begun writing this if I had been able to find any James/Henry story on FF. I'd just beaten number four when I started writing it, and instantly thought that the two would probably meet up at some point. So when I couldn't find any story starring the two boys, I decided I needed to write my own. This was originally going to be a one-shot, where the two just met and became friends. But then my mind started working, I thought of a plot, and Ergence came to life.  
Oh, and the name Ergence is very relevant to my thematic intent. It isn't just me thinking of random words.

By the way, I'm really interested in reading what some of you all have written about Silent Hill, since I assume that most of you reading this have also written something of their own. Does anyone have anything they'd like me to read? Otherwise, I may just go all pirate on you and pillage your profiles for your stories and read whatever I want. :]

But enough of my silly chit-chat. I ramble too much anyways. I wanted to leave these author notes short, but I just love talking to people with the same interests as me, who I can discuss things with. It's a bit hard with my real life friends. I've explained the entire plots of all the Silent Hill games I've played to two of my friends, but it isn't the same as talking to someone who's played the games.

Seriously. That's it. Here's the next chapter, from Henry's POV. It broke my fingers.

* * *

**_Emergence_**

The great thing about my job at the modeling agency was that it let me sleep in. The building didn't open until 1 in the afternoon. Funnily enough, even with my healthy sleeping pattern I still look lethargic to most people no matter what I do. I don't know what it is. Probably just age getting the better of me. Damn, what a shitty thing to say when I'm only 27 years old…

Emergence

When I started my new job, I was finally able to wake up on my own schedule. Except for the occasional phone call that woke me up before 12, I woke up naturally. The only day that changed was on one of the last days of August… maybe even the last. I don't remember, dates don't matter for shit anyways.

I woke up to a knock on my door. My room is on the west side of the building, so unfortunately I had no inclination as to the time. By my extreme reluctance and general drowsiness I correctly assumed it was morning. I managed to stumble out of my bed, stub my toe on my night-stand, and throw on some clothes while trying to avoid crying out in pain. I didn't pay too much attention to what I was throwing on. When I'd finished, I looked in the mirror to make sure I wasn't clashing too terribly. A dark yellow button-up shirt over a black tee-shirt and light blue jeans. Nothing I was going to walk the red carpet with, but it worked for opening my apartment door. I yelled a quick, 'I'm coming!' as I walked down the narrow hallway of my single-bedroom apartment, busily straightening the sleeves of my shirt.

I opened the door with a yawn and blinked in surprise when I didn't see anyone in front of me. But just like a scene out of a movie, the short girl who'd knocked on my door cleared her throat and drew my attention to her. Had I been in the right mindset, I probably would've given her my best impression of a fake smile and asked her if I could help her. As I was in an irritated, tired state, I settled with a,  
"Yeah?"  
Before I had time to regret my brash remark, she smiled up at me.  
"Henry Townshend?"  
She asked, but she didn't wait for me to affirm her question. I guess she already knew.  
"I live a few doors down from you."  
I'm glad she didn't pause and wait for me to respond. I hate people who expect you to react to rhetorical statements.  
"And before you ask, no I'm not here trying to be all neighborly or whatever. I'm just here because the guy I live with…"  
She paused and pointed down the hall. I wondered what the hell she meant by 'guy I live with' when she pointed down the hall. She looked young, so I assumed it would have been a father, or an older brother. But just 'the guy I live with' implied something different. A lover? A friend? I decided to not delve into it and focused my attention back on her.  
"Has pretty much been stalking you."  
She ignored my quizzical look and continued undaunted,  
"Don't ask me why, I don't know. I just know that he wants to talk to you but he's too scared to actually approach you."  
I stared at her for a moment. Obviously I was a bit creeped out, both by what she'd said and how she'd said it. Apparently I was being stalked, but it wasn't really a big deal?

That was just ridiculous. She was probably just exaggerating on the word stalking. I waited for her to continue for a while. When she didn't, I coughed to relieve the awkward feeling.  
"Okay… so…you want me to do something?"  
I really had no idea what I should say. I wasn't exactly desperate to meet some guy who was stalking me.  
"Are you doing anything right now?"  
I really hate when people answer my questions with questions of their own. I tried to not let it show.  
"Does it look like it?"  
So my response was a bit infantile. It felt appropriate at the time.  
"No, it really doesn't. So come with me and meet him?

A few months ago I probably would've without hesitation. I followed orders well. Or maybe I just didn't know how to say no. The whole thing with Walter and the events that ensued left me a bit more skeptical of doing what other people told me to.  
"Hold on a second. I don't even know who this guy is, let alone who you are."  
I couldn't hide my baffled tone. It was a strange situation in context, but it didn't feel that way. I guess I blame what happened to me in my room. After that, nothing really feels too absurd.  
"Or why he wants to meet me?"

The girl rolled her eyes and grasped my wrist with one hand. I can honestly say that I've never felt hands as powerful as hers—her nails practically dug into my flesh. I didn't put up much resistance as she pulled me down the hall.  
"He's James Sunderland, and I'm Laura Sunderland. And I already told you that I don't know why he wants to meet you, so why don't you just shut up already and meet him? He may be an idiot, but he isn't going to hurt you."

She turned to look back at me for a moment as she continued to pull me.  
"Wait, the super's kid?"  
I hadn't meant to voice my thoughts aloud, but I was actually shocked. Frank was probably the guy who thought I was the biggest nut-case out of everyone. If he'd told his son what I'd said, which I'm certain he had, why would James want to meet me? I frowned when I realized that it was probably so he could hear the story straight from my mouth. That's all people seemed to want out of me nowadays. Either that, or professional photos that cost a fortune.  
"If you mean the superintendent."  
She stopped in front of the door to room 309 and let go of my wrist. She fished through her pocket as I rubbed my wrist. I was really hoping it wouldn't bruise.

I followed her through the door into her apartment. Which in truth didn't look anything like an apartment. If I hadn't just come from the apartment hallway, I would've guessed it was a home. Unlike my claustrophobic, one room little thing, this place was huge; and I thought that before I'd even known that there was a downstairs too.

I don't think I or anyone in the building knew about this room. Not that any of us would've been rich enough to afford it.

Laura coughed to get my attention. I turned to see her in the dining room. By the impatient look on her face she was expecting me to follow her. I felt out of place in the huge house, and I'm certain it showed on my face. I arrived in the dining room and the silence spread on. I wished she would've said something. Even as an adult I still had problems talking to strangers. I actually never talk unless I really need to. There's no real reason behind it—I've just never been able to make idle or pointless conversation.  
"Sit here, I'll go get him."

I thought about just running out as soon as she'd turned the corner into the hallway. More as a practical joke than for my well-being or anything. That girl had one strong attitude, I could only imagine her face if she'd come back to any empty room. It was a funny thought, but I was too curious to just run away. She was only gone for a moment before she came back into the room. I lifted an eye-brow when I realized that she was alone.  
"Where is he?"

Laura walked over to the pantry in the other room as she spoke.  
"Oh, he was asleep. He's getting dressed now."  
I'm not sure why, but I'd been expecting that James would be sitting there ready to greet me. I thought that maybe he was just shy, and had sent his daughter as a guise. It seemed like he'd been caught as unprepared as I was.

Laura sat down at the table next to me with a box of graham crackers and maple syrup in hand. I wrinkled my noise at her choice of breakfast. She smiled back when she noticed my reaction of disgust. She took one of the crackers out of its package, spread a generous amount of maple syrup on it, and placed it in front of my face.  
"You can't be serious."  
I said, reeling my head back to get farther away from the sugary monstrosity. She just put it farther in my face and watched me expectantly. I lifted my hand and hesitantly grabbed the sticky thing. I immediately regretted the action, because she stared at me expectantly. I couldn't believe she was serious! The maple syrup was beginning to fall over the sides and stick to my fingers. I really didn't want to eat it. I didn't like maple syrup to begin with, and I couldn't imagine it would taste any better on graham crackers—another food item I'd never liked.

Putting it in my mouth seemed like a better idea than letting the thing dribble onto my lap or the table, though, so I eventually grimaced and shoved it into my mouth. A part of me had been hoping that I might be pleasantly surprised—like the time my best friend in the 8th grade forced me to eat Tomato soup with cheese microwaved into it. The graham cracker was much closer to my expectation. It was too sweet, the textures didn't mix well, and it caused me to gag. For the sake of not making a scene in some stranger's house I didn't run to the sink to spit it out. I chewed as fast as I could and finally swallowed it.

The feeling of relief was a bit dampened by Laura's laugh. I looked down to send her a glare, but laughed when I saw that she was popping one of the crackers into her mouth.  
"Need a dagger to make your performance more dramatic?"  
She asked me sarcastically. I had to laugh at that. It'd been gross, so I can only imagine how my reactions must have looked.  
"Need a surgeon to unclog your arteries?"  
I widened my eyes when I'd finished speaking. I hadn't actually thought about what I was saying as I said it. I didn't talk much, but when I did, I never had the ability to censor myself. I'd meant my comment as a joke, but I had forgotten how sensitive most teenage girls are. If she thought I was calling her fat, I would've made a life-long enemy.  
"I'm sorry, I really didn't."  
"I wasn't insulted, so save your whiny apologies."  
She stood up from the table and shot me a knowing look,  
"I'm not fat, and I'm not self-conscious."

She finished with a smile and turned to face the hallway.  
"Hurry your ass up, James!"  
She said before walking briskly into the kitchen to put away the crackers and syrup. I watched her for lack of anything better to do. She was wearing a school uniform—I guess that was why she was up so early. I also guessed that she'd probably timed this meeting so that she'd be able to make a fashionable get-away. She certainly looked impatient enough.

We both turned to look down the hall-way when we heard foot-steps. James Sunderland, disheveled bed-head and all, walked into the room. As I'd also predicted, he hadn't known who it was that was waiting for him. Or at least I'm pretty sure I'm correct, if the look of shock and gaping mouth were anything to go by.  
"Hey. James, right?"  
I asked, trying my hardest to not laugh. I wanted to sound nonchalant, but the whole meeting was too awkward to be anything other than amusing.

I felt bad for the guy. I couldn't tell whether he was just startled or if he was really that timid. He gave me a quick nod, though I don't think he knew why he was nodding. Laura saved James the embarrassment of having to find words to say by speaking again,  
"He's been wanting to talk to you for a while now. He's just too much of a pussy to actually say anything."  
I looked over at her with a raised eyebrow. She seemed to be taunting him, but I think she was on the same wave-length as me and was actually trying to break the silence—just in a very condescending way.

James turned to glare at her, but she caught on before he could. She quickly changed her indifferent face to an impish grin. I wondered if that was the kind of relationship they had—that question also bringing back to the surface the one of what exactly James was to Laura. I could only assume that he was her father.

Laura moved to stand closer to me when she spoke again,  
"I like him. He's the only adult in this town who's greeted me with something other than 'Awwh! What a cute little girl!'"  
Both James and I laughed. I'm not sure why James was laughing, but I was laughing at the sheer irony that my first instinct upon seeing her probably would've been 'Awwh! What a cute little girl!' on any normal day.  
She waited for our laughter to die down before she announced,  
"Well then, I'm off to school now",  
and moved to grab her back-pack. It had some cartoon character on it, but I didn't recognize whoever it was. It looked like it was supposed to be Robbie Rabbit, but it was wearing a dress. She grabbed for her sack-lunch and walked towards the front door. Upon reaching it, she turned around as if it were a second thought, and looked towards me and James as she spoke to us respectively,  
"See you later, Henry! Oh, and you can thank me later, James."

When she left, things predictably became awkward. James was either shocked or shy, I'm unsocial, and we were both out of our comfort zones. Plus, I assume we were both wary of one another.

An awkward pause fell between us. I tried to lighten the palpable discomfort by focusing my eyes on the ornate vase in the middle of the table. Unfortunately, decorations and knick-knacks have never been my forte, so found nothing to mention.  
James moved to sit down in the chair Laura had been in. It made a soft squeaking noise as he did so. I laughed in an attempt to alleviate the tension.  
"So… Laura just went to your apartment and brought you here?"  
I nearly jumped when James spoke. I managed to hide the embarrassing reaction behind an amused chuckle. I could tell that he was trying to lift the mood with idle conversation, and I appreciated the effort. I'm not sure if he could tell how awkward I was feeling—months of isolation after a lifetime of an antisocial demeanor had left me with an aversion to conversations in general.  
"Yeah. Good thing she caught me while I was tired, or I probably would've called her cute."  
I said, hoping that I had sounded good-natured. He chuckled back, which made me smile. I have no idea if the chuckle was forced or real, though.  
"So she woke you up? Sorry about that."

I have to admit, James' awkward reactions and reticent apology were somewhat endearing. I raised my right hand and shook it at a right angle once. I still want to know who created hand signals. Who decided that waving your hand in front of your face means that something doesn't matter? I responded, without thought, by saying,  
"Don't worry. It was nice to have a chance to talk to her."  
That sentence came with an underlying sense of embarrassment. Not because of what I had said, per se, but because of the way in which I had said it. Very uncharacteristically for myself, I had let my guard down and simply said what I wanted to—what I felt. I may not have had a censor for the vulgarity of what I said, but I was very closed off with my own feelings. I looked back up to see if he had reacted, or noticed the difference. When I looked in his eyes, though, he immediately looked away. I almost questioned his sudden aversion but I knew that would've lead to a less than pleasant conversation.

After I'd finished trying to analyze his distaste for eye contact, I realized that an uncomfortable silence had fallen between us. The whole ordeal had just been awkward. Usually when people talked to me, they had to be very chatty individuals who could do enough talking for the both of us. I'm not listing James' hesitance to speak as a negative quality, but it made for long gaps between the two of us—both quite clearly quiet people by nature.  
"But,"  
I said, a bit louder than my normal tone to try and capture his attention and let him know that I was breaking the silence. After all, I was there for a reason, right? He wanted to talk to me for some reason, and I wanted to know why that was. Since we were both evidently unaccustomed to social settings, I didn't see any reason in floundering around for more pointless conversation that neither of us were either willing or capable of bringing up.

He finally stopped his visual scan of the room and settled his eyes back on me. Of course not on my eyes, but my lips; It was unnerving.  
"She told me that you'd been wanting to talk to me?"

It came without a segway, and it sounded awkward coming from my lips. I felt a bit like a child trying to ask his mom for something—unsure but hopeful.

"I have. Ever since I saw you in the lobby."  
He quickly rushed on without giving me a chance to say anything. I felt bad for him, probably thinking that I was judging him. I also felt nervous, when he began to speak again, waiting to see what his motives for this conversation were. I had already formed a few suspicions myself.  
"My dad told me what happened to you…"  
At that point, he'd confirmed my suspicion. I'd nervously, and perhaps a bit foolishly, hoped that James would be different than the others.

He wasn't. Just like all of the others, all he wanted me for was to hear a fascinating story, and pat himself on the back for being better than me; or just more sane than me. That pissed the shit out of me. Mostly because he'd given me hope before crushing it down. I dealt with the confidence-shredding isolation, but I wasn't about to tolerate this indignance.

I sighed, closed my eyes, and shook my head.  
"Just stop there."  
I growled out. Secretly I was scared about being so offensive. I'm a 'suffer in silence' type of person, so being confrontational always felt a bit off for me. When I tried to make a point or stand up for myself, it always felt like I was acting to try and fit a part. I stood up from my chair and glared at him, surprised to see that he was finally looking me in the eye. I tried to speak with as much conviction as I could manage.  
"I already know what you want... I'm not telling my story again just so one more person can laugh at me."

I pushed my chair in to try and show that I wasn't going to stick around and let him make fun of me. I turned to walk out the door when I felt James suddenly grab onto me. As unused to social contact as I am, I'm even more unaccustomed to physical contact. I whipped my head around whilst trying to yank my arm free. All that managed to do was give me a crink in my neck and put an uncomfortable strain on my shoulder. I later noted how out of shape I was.

"No, you don't!"  
He was nearly shouting at me. I don't know if he meant to, but he was actually scaring me. Not in the same way I'd been scared of Walter Sullivan, which was more of an obscure fascination mixed with my desire to live, James was scaring me with the sheer intensity of his voice. Apparently I'd insulted him.  
"If you think I've been practically stalking you for the last week just to get my laughs at your expense, then you're wrong!"  
I barely registered what he'd said. All that really got through to me was the tone of his voice and obvious feelings of offensiveness. We looked each other in the eye—he was glaring at me, and I was faking one myself. I was still too paralyzed by the way he'd regarded me to do much more than imitate him. People didn't yell at me. People didn't really have strong feelings either way with me. I was out of place, confused, and quite honestly, a bit pleased. It was adrenaline pumping to actually be a part of an argument. Even if it was a very dormant, nervous part.

Still, I was angry with him. Not because he'd grabbed me or that he was yelling at me, but that I still didn't understand his motives, and that bothered me.

But I sat back down, rather than making a dramatic exit. If he was that mad at me for accusing him of false intentions, then he must've had something important to say to me. I looked at him after I'd sat down, fiddling with the hem of my shirt to give myself something to do. I hoped he wasn't expecting me to say something or comment on his actions. I was growing nervous with each passing second that we spent in silence, though. He'd eventually looked away, but I didn't know what that meant. I had no idea what he could expect me to say!

His sigh brought me out of my thoughts and back to the present.  
"Look. I…"  
I had to strain to hear him through his muttering. I would've wanted to say 'What?' and lean in closer in a normal circumstance. In hindsight, I've had to say 'in a normal circumstance' quite a bit since my endeavors in Silent Hill.  
"I believe you."

He looked back up—too quickly to give me a chance to look away. I tried to meet his stare with something akin to hope or interest, but all I could meet him with was skepticism. I'd had people say the same only to have it turn out to be lies so they could get me to trust them, and then stab me in the back. At this point in the conversation I would ordinarily leave, but as I stated, there was something about James that made me want to hear him out.

"No… it's more than that. I understand what you went through. . It was Walter Sullivan, right? I never met him, but I know that he killed himself in jail after killing Billy and Miriam Locane. Right? I found a newspaper article about him when I was in Silent Hill."

I swear, I can't even begin to describe the feeling I felt after that. The best way I can think to word it is to say that as he talked about Silent Hill, which I had never mentioned to anyone besides Eileen, I felt a sudden weight on my chest. I can't think of the emotions to explain what that means. It was an undistinguishable mix of both hope and fear. I didn't know why I was suddenly so scared, but strangely unable to move.  
"I know everyone thinks you're crazy, but I know what you've been through. I went to Silent Hill… as strange as it sounds, the town almost called me there. If I'm right, then I'm guessing you saw all kinds of monsters too, right? It sounds like your situation was different than mine… but I guess I… well, I just thought… you might want to talk to someone who won't treat you like a mental case as much as I want to."

I don't know why, but I've never been able to understand or analyze feelings—especially my own. So I can't explain the sudden panic I felt at James' sentence. I was scared because that finalized the truth in his words. James knew what I had gone through. Maybe… maybe I was just scared because for once, someone knew and trusted me, which meant I could trust him. But since I'm afraid of trust or any form of commitment, the thought of actually making myself vulnerable by opening up was almost unimaginable.

I think that's the reason my body seemed to move on its own. As silly as it sounds, my lips felt numb. My normal façade slipped away to the true nervousness I felt.  
I quickly stood up from my chair and averted my eyes from James' own.  
I did finally manage to stammer out a less than believable,  
"I have to go to work.",  
before quite literally running out of the door.

My mind was working at what felt like a million miles an hour. I was confronted with so many unanswered questions that I wasn't sure what to focus on first. I made it to my apartment door and fished my keys out of my pocket with shaky hands. I fumbled with the key and lock for a moment before I was finally in.

When I'd finally closed the door and collected my breath, the sudden fear was gone. The racing of thoughts slowed down just enough for me to realize something: I'd just run away from the one person who had believed me or been kind to me in six months. Even more than that, I'd run away from the person I'd wished for—the person who would be able to understand my predicament.

To say I felt like an idiot was quite the understatement. Since things had become clear and crystallized, my fear seemed like the most ridiculous thing in the world. I wished I could just rewind time so I could have a better reaction. I'd probably hurt James, and I'd definitely embarrassed myself. What was I, a school-girl who's super hot crush had just admitted to liking her? Scratch that, even a school-girl in that situation would've had a better reaction than I had. Through years of forced habit, no hint of my humiliation showed—even when I was alone.

I wondered if it was too late to leave my room and run back then. Even then, what would I say? Hey, sorry for running away from you, but I really am happy that you believe me and think we should be friends and talk more? I'm sure that would work out well. Then he'd think I was a total nutcase like everyone else. Well… not for the same reasons as everyone else, but the point still stands.

I turned around and looked out the peep-hole of my room, my paranoia once again getting the better of me. As I had safely assumed, he wasn't there.

With a resigned groan, I walked away from the door and to my couch. I had been a bit hesitant to sit on it since it'd been possessed all those months ago, but today I flopped down on it without a second thought. I rubbed my temples out of the sheer self-created stress and frustration I was putting on myself.

I knew he was mad, and I knew that if I approached him there would be an altercation. I wasn't sure if it was worth it at first. I began weighing the pros and cons. As a non-confrontational person, I quickly floated over to the side that let me ignore James Sunderland for the rest of my natural life.

I made that decision in the first second, but then my mind began to run with what the decision would imply. It meant that I was afraid—that I was alright with spending the rest of my life in mediocrity as long as I was safe.

No...

Fuck that!

I was done with that part of me. Where had it gotten me? Before the Walter Sullivan incident, it'd left me a twenty-seven year old man living in a one-bedroom apartment with no friends, no one I loved, no children, a job that barely covered my expenses, and no self-worth or goals.

Maybe the Walter Sullivan incident had finally given my life purpose. I was the 'receiver of wisdom', and I'd saved Eileen. For a few short weeks, I wasn't mediocre. I was someone special. Though I'd never wish it on myself again, Walter had chosen me to show all of his past to. Even if it was with the intent to kill me later, I had been important for that time.

So, maybe that's why I didn't want to be normal anymore. Maybe I finally wanted to pursue something that would make me happy, despite the possibility for pain and suffering that might come with it. After all, I was bored; bored of the stares, bored of the loneliness, bored of the feeling of uselessness, and bored of the life I'd forced myself to live.

That epiphany didn't all come to me in one moment; I'm not that philosophical. I spent all day in my apartment trying to figure it, myself, and my thoughts out.


	5. Reemergence

**AN:  
**Fuuuck. This chapter is way too long. But if I had tried to make it into two chapters, they both would've been too short, and they don't stand alone well.

Okay, I'll stop complaining.

_**If you skip over the rest of the AN, at least read this:**_  
There will be no update next week. Actually, there may not be one for a few weeks. I started going to college last semester, which means I'm now doing all of my work from my laptop. To get to the point, it's a new laptop, and I've been using a trial version of Microsoft word that's about to expire. So, I'm currently backing up the files for when it does shut down (as I'm not sure if it'll save my current work or not), but I know for certain that I won't be able to write until I can either manage to convince my parents to pay for Microsoft word for me, or scrounge up the money myself. Which isn't so easy, seeing as I was fired from my actual job last month.  
So, don't sit around next Tuesday waiting for an update, unless you like feeling disappointed.  
_**/Importance  
**_  
With that out of the way, let me talk about this chapter.  
As I said, it is way too long—even for me to go back and proofread. When I finish the story completely, I'm planning on going back and editing. So, just know that everything you're reading could be considered as 'work in progress'. So the fact of the matter is, is that it probably will be wrought with mistakes of both the grammar and character variety. I don't mean to tell you to prepare for the worst thing you've ever read, but I'm letting you know that this chapter probably isn't up to the quality that previous chapters have been.

And I'm trying my hardest to give Henry as few outward emotions as possible, but one of this story's main thematic messages regards change, so it's hard to find perfection when I have to weigh in previous habits, reluctance to change, desire to change, and how that change ought to be portrayed.

Also, Laura is somewhat a character foil to James. I hadn't thought about it, but one of my friends pointed out to me that her actions help to make James seem more righteous.

_**Response to critiques:  
**_-_The Mobled Queen-_ I'm breaking my own system of simply mentioning the issue at hand, because I want to personally thank you for the critique. It was very well-worded and exceedingly enlightening. When I read it, I went back to the chapter, read over it, and had a 'That makes so much sense!' moment. Most of the critiques I get offer me little more than spelling or grammar advice, but the fact that you could understand what I was trying to portray and help me see how to make it more believable was absolutely splendid. I wish I could've read that review before starting this chapter. I have a feeling it would've helped. Either way, thank you again for the help, and for all of the reviews!

-_Settings-_ I'm really glad you brought that up. In an attempt to show their subtle differences, I'm making it so that James doesn't notice/appreciate sceneries or settings as much as Henry does. Henry, as a photographer, would pay much more attention to detail and feel a need to make note of it in his narration, I think. This does provide a bit of a problem for me, though, since I rarely like to narrate settings in extreme detail. I've found that while reading, no matter how well someone explains something, I always picture something familiar to my own mind. Whenever anyone writes a high school story, I automatically picture the high school I went to, no matter the differences. But thank you for bringing that to my attention, I really ought to describe the settings much more—especially from Henry's perspective._**  
**__  
-All these crazy compliments-_ Obviously not a critique, but I'm still blown away each week by the people who say they like my story. Thank you all so much! It really is motivating to read all the praise and comments when I get onto my laptop to write.

Anyways, there will probably be 3-4 more of these silly getting to know each-other chapters before things turn serious. So be prepared for that, whenever I'm able to write again.

* * *

__I really wanted to apologize to James. Well… maybe not apologize. I wanted to explain my reaction and ask him to talk to me. Well… maybe not like that. I wasn't certain what I exactly wanted, but I knew that I wanted to be able to talk to him and get to know him. Maybe get to know who he was before the experience and how it changed him, what the experience was, and what he knew about Silent Hill and The Order. I'd done my own research on the area, but I didn't know what material was credible and what wasn't.

Reemergence

The only thing standing in my way of actually speaking to him was my own idiotic reaction and my shameful pride.

I called the front desk of the apartments about three hours after my confrontation with James on my cell phone. In the calmest voice I could muster, I asked if they could connect me to James Sunderland's extension. That woman at the front desk, whatever the hell that fat cow's name is, responded back that James didn't have a home phone to start, but a cell phone, and that he wouldn't be in now. I had to refrain from cursing at that slag. She was such a nasty, bitter woman. I don't know what happened in her life to make her hold everyone besides Frank Sunderland in disdain, but I pray I never go through anything like it.

I tried to imitate an amused chuckle and asked where he was, explaining that I was one of Laura's teachers. I had no doubt that she didn't know a thing about James' life besides his name or Laura's, so I wasn't worried she'd call me out on the bull-shit. Besides, it wasn't like the days of high school, where no matter how hard I pretended to sound like an adult over the phone it would never work—I actually was an adult.

She gave what I can only explain as a nervous throat-clearing and asked me to hold on for a moment. It was through her that I both learned James' cell-phone number and where he worked. When I hung up, I realized that the roles James and I had been playing had changed. Where he had been the semi-stalker with me unaware, now the opposite was true.

I found out that he was working at a nearby bar doing financial managing and bartending. It seemed a bit of a strange job, but at some point I realized that James must've been eager to take any job he could find moving back here. Even minus the expenses on his titan of an apartment, I can't imagine it's cheap raising a daughter. Especially one as bratty as Laura.

I knew where he worked, but that was of little help to me. I didn't want to piss the poor guy off any more than he probably was, so walking into the bar while he was working was out of the question. Going back to his apartment didn't work for me either. Even if he didn't slam the door in my face as I assume he would, I'd probably lose my courage before I could knock. I needed some way where I could just run into him. That way I would have to face him and he wouldn't be able to avoid me. Unless he ran away, which I can only assume he wouldn't. We're both adults, even if I don't act like it all the time.

I decided I'd wait a block away from work—on the only route I would assume he would take, unless he decided to take a scenic route today. I blew the option off at first as completely ridiculous—just the restless imagination of a nervous man. As the hours passed, the option became less ludicrous. If he was as angry as I would've been in his place, a calming walk would be something to consider. Too bad all the 'scenic' ways to walk back would take him through some of the more questionable parts of town. Then again, if he'd retained anything from his stay in Silent Hill as I had, he would probably be able to fend for himself. Though gun-wielding teenagers are probably a bit more dangerous than most of the creatures I faced—excluding the ghosts of Walter's victims, if they can be counted as creatures.

Still, I decided it was worth the risk. Obviously the excuse I'd used on James about needing to go to work was false. I didn't work on Saturdays.

That left me with little to do besides lounge around in my apartment. After my expedition into James' apartment, my apartment had begun to feel a bit less pleasant. I don't mean in the oppressive, choking sort of way it was when it was possessed—God no. I just mean that it was plain. I'd always known that, but it was, and still is, all I can afford without moving into the questionable area of town. Today, the monotony of the plain beige walls cloyed me. The way it merged into the dirty white carpet furthered the feeling. I couldn't even stand to look at my arbitrary kitchen and its standard appliances. I wanted away from the mundane, but I had nothing to do outside of my room, either.

I kept myself busy by thinking farther into the matter. I wouldn't say I was obsessed, though. I'm calm by nature, which comes in handy in situations where a different person might panic. I thought about what I should say. Something along the lines of an apology and an explanation, I assumed. If things went well, then anything past that should go smoothly. I could only assume he had a lot he wanted to say, much the same as myself. I thought about what time I should head over. I didn't want to miss him, but I obviously didn't want to stand around on the street corner waiting for hours. If he was working in the bar, then he wouldn't be leaving until later in the day.

This was quickly resolved with a quick trip to James' apartment at 4 p.m. I was glad when my assumption was correct, and Laura answered the door. I ignored all of her questions regarding what had happened with James, who I was now assuming was her father, and asked her what time he would be getting off of work. She called me a douche-bag, but called him on her cell-phone. She asked when he was going to be back, and when he asked why she wanted to know, she said that she wanted to know if he would be home in time for dinner (and, I'll add, she called him a jerk for not simply answering her question). As it would turn out, he was getting off in less than an hour.

I ran out of the room before Laura had hung up, hoping to avoid more of her questions. I vaguely heard her yell that I was a moron through the closed door.

When I was finally in my room, I wondered if I ought to physically prepare in some way. It seemed one of those confrontations that ought to be done at night while sparse bits of snow fluttered around us, illuminated by the dim street-lights for only a moment before resting against the once-black asphalt. If that were the case, I imagine I'd wear some sort of coat. However, seeing as it was going to be a humid August evening, it wasn't going to be the typical romanticized setting a movie might have. If only real life were more like the movies, where the weather fit the mood and atmosphere of all conversations.

Rather than an eloquent coat of sorts, I decided to leave my outfit as is. Taking the heat outside of the air-conditioned apartment into consideration, I rolled the sleeves up to my elbows.

'Less than an hour' didn't give me too secure of a time frame, so I decided to head over right away. Still feeling like a complete stalker, I walked along the sidewalk to a spot I knew I'd run into him. I passed by the buildings, wondering whether to call them short or tall. In comparison to a cottage, they were huge, but if the comparison was to a sky-scraper, they'd be tiny. They came in all varieties of colors too, excluding pink and purple. They were all juxtaposed against the side-walk, which gave me a clear view into a few of the windows. I passed by a woman yelling at someone in her apartment, a man getting his hair-cut, and another woman on a lap-top in front of the window. I finally reached my destination and stood with my back against a red-bricked building about a block away from James' bar.

The air held a slight, metallic tinge. It, mixed with the smells of upturned earth from a nearby construction site and the ever-present smell of burnt gasoline, put a foul taste in my mouth. At least it wasn't one of those 'deceitful by appearance' types of cities. It looked about as terrible as it smelled. All around, this area of the city reeked of disrepair and hopelessness. I can tell you, if I was one of those scrawny teenagers I see all over the internet, I'd be too scared to stand around without some sort of weapon. I wonder if James feels the same way every time he walked past this area?

I wish I knew something of his personality, besides the fact that he doesn't like eye-contact. I wasn't even certain how to approach him! Did I treat the matter gently and take his feelings into consideration? Or was I supposed to act all 'manly', slap him on the back, and just tell him that I was being a pussy? The latter was so out of character for me, just thinking about it made me laugh.

I guess I'd probably just shout his name and take it from there. I wouldn't chase him if he ran, despite how funny of an image that brought to mind. He was a good inch or two taller than I was, and looked a fair bit stronger than me anyways.

I had a number of amusing thoughts and day-dreams as I waited—none of them worth mentioning.

The sky had darkened as five rolled around. I kept constant tabs on my watch. Five minutes passed. Ten. Twenty. Thirty. One of my old friends passed me. She sent me a hesitant nod which I returned with the usual dosage of apathy and indifference I saved for all the people who called me crazy. 40 minutes passed. My legs were tired so I sat down for five minutes. At 45 minutes, I stood up again. Finally, at 47 minutes, I saw a tall figure approaching from the opposite direction. From the distance, all I could tell was that it was a male with short blonde hair. Nothing else was distinguishable enough, but I was hopeful. His eyes were downcast at the ground, but it was clear at 100 yards that it was James. He hadn't spotted me yet. In fact, he only glanced up long enough to seemingly make sure he wasn't going to run into any person or structure. I thought about how easy it would've been to pick-pocket him.

While lost in my thoughts and trying to distinguish his features, I failed to realize that I was on the opposite side of the road from him.

How does one discretely cross the road while rushing to make sure the other doesn't get too far away? The only answer I found was a prominent 'You don't.'

Abandoning all sense of stealth or any element of surprise, I cupped my hands around my mouth and spoke in a loud voice,  
"James! Wait up!"

---

I'll be the first to admit that my job is pretty unsatisfying. When I'm not crunching numbers or balancing them, I'm behind the bar serving up drinks to people I wouldn't associate with under normal circumstances. One man in particular, a guy named Jerry, was eerily reminiscent of Eddie. I don't think it's necessary to say that I was never too fond of Eddie.

Our usual clientele consisted of promiscuous women, older men who need a drink after a long day of what they describe to be their unfulfilling lives, people who come to the bar because it's the only social setting they can be in without sticking out like a sore thumb, bar-hoppers, and people who just want to get piss-drunk for some reason or another.  
Everyone deals with liquor in different ways. For some, it can take a depressing situation and numb them to their memories and, subsequently, their pain. For others, it's an avoidance of life all together. For others yet, it's simply the one thing that gets them through the day without placing a handgun to their head and ending everything.

Myself, I don't drink much. I drank until the point of unconsciousness often during the time when Mary was sick, but I haven't been drunk since I adopted Laura. I tell her it's because I'm afraid of what she'll do to me when I'm not sober, but it's really because I have no need for it. It doesn't make me happier, and I no longer need it as a filler.

That as it is for me, the same isn't true for the people who come in. Most lead depressing lives, and most like to share it with their tender. Sylvia, another bartender, had had to quit when the stress had become too much for her. It isn't a hard job physically, but it begins to wear on all of us emotionally. If it were a bar in a club, this problem wouldn't arise; since it was such a small, personal bar with a loyal set of attendees, contact and conversation were almost inevitable.

I'm alright with most of it. I pulled through my own problems, and I had no doubt that most of them would too. The only person who truly and poignantly affected me was a young man named Lucas. He couldn't have been older than 25, and his wife was dying of breast cancer. Maybe it was only because I saw parts of myself in him that I actually tried to help. He came in every Saturday for a scotch on the rocks. Every conversation was bitter-sweet, and left me with an empty feeling when he left to go back to his wife.

That, in addition to my confrontation with Henry, had left me in a less than pleasant mood. The only thing that had remotely cheered me up had been a phone call from Laura. There were rare moments when she accidently dropped her tough front and let me see her sweet, caring side—the one she had always used with Mary. I was eager to get home to her, for once.

Laura was actually a pretty decent cook. Nothing extravagant, but she could boil almost anything, and was already learning about frying different kinds of meat. I was so out of focus thinking about what Laura might be making that I didn't take my setting into consideration. I'd walked the same path almost every single day for a few months. It was second nature for me—something that required no thought on my part. My feet guided my body.

Something perturbed my thoughts. That 'something' being my name shouted at me from a considerable distance. I turned to look at whoever it was that had called out to me, and froze in my tracks. Of all the people I might have expected to call to me on a street, Henry wasn't among them. In fact, after today's conversation, I would've thought that Henry would be writing up a restraining order at that very moment.

He recognized my shock, I think, but kept walking towards me. I was in one of those numb states. I wasn't quite sure what to think, what to feel, or what to expect. The anger I'd felt earlier swept back, but it was overshadowed by my curiosity and reckless personality. It wasn't as though anything horrible would come of talking to him again, at least.  
"Henry? What are you doing out here?"  
I asked incredulously. There was absolutely nothing to do in this part of town. I should've been more concerned with what he wanted, now that I look back on it.  
Henry kept his eyes downcast, as if he were ashamed. In fact, I'm almost certain he was. I wouldn't say it out loud, but that fact pleased me to a certain extent. I felt bad for thinking that way, but I did think that he deserved it.  
Henry seemed a bit taken aback by the question. He obviously hadn't prepared an answer for that; maybe it was just because he was expecting me to yell at him, rather than ask him a legitimate question. He didn't know yet, but my anger isn't of the explosive variety. I'm not the type to blow up in someone's face—I'm the type who holds in their irritation and frustration until I'm eventually not irritated at what initially happened, but the fact that they don't understand why I'm mad or that it took them so long to figure it out. Mary always told me it was my worst character flaw, but her telling me that made me irritable in itself.

He sighed and looked back up, closing his eyes at the point where they would've been staring into mine. It was at that point that I realized that this wasn't a coincidental meeting. Henry had prepared for a conversation.  
"I… called the front desk and had her tell me where you work… and then had Laura call you to find out when you got off of work."  
I let out an almost silent groan of dismay and rolled my eyes. I should've known that Laura's call hadn't been what it seemed. He opened his eyes at the sound and looked at me, as if afraid that I was mad.  
"No, I'm just upset that Laura lied to me."  
I said, certain that I had answered the question running through his head. An almost unnoticeable smile on his part affirmed my assumption.  
"I'm… sorry. I mean… about the phone call too, but more for running out on you."

He looked terribly out of place—I felt bad for him. Just seeing him that way, in such a guilty, remorseful pose, made my frustration diminish slightly. It's hard for me to give up the feeling of irritation when I have it, but I'm not an unreasonable guy. If Henry looked ashamed enough, then I'd at least give him a chance.

Even from first seeing him, I could tell that he was the introverted type who had a hard time displaying emotions, and an even harder time admitting to fault. I wouldn't call him proud in that way, because I think he was nervous more-so due to my possible reaction than the fact that he was admitting fault. He opened his eyes and looked me straight in mine. I didn't look away this time—the intensity of his stare captivated me. I wouldn't have suspected someone like Henry to be capable of portraying so much emotion in a single look.

"I'm not social, and with everything that's happened I've receded farther into my own mind than ever before. I mean, I've always depended solely on myself, but I didn't realize until today that I can't even imagine trusting anyone else."

Henry clasped his hands together, finally breaking eye-contact to take a deep breath.

"So… it wasn't that I didn't believe you or anything. I was… I don't know. I guess scared. I just… never thought that there was any possibility that someone like you existed, so I mentally prepared myself to be constantly alone… and shut off?"

Henry was fumbling for words, but I was beginning to see what he was saying. He wasn't looking at me as he continued to speak, instead focusing on his hands. Apparently, not only was he an emotional amputee, but he was also a nervous wreck when it came to apologizing. I wasn't sure whether it was because he simply ran away from problems, or if he honestly kept so many tabs on himself that he rarely ever had problems.

"And when you just announced that you believed me without even a bit of doubt, that fear of commitment and trust sprung to the surface. At first I didn't even believe you…"  
He stopped and looked back up at me, the previous intensity replaced with the stoic face he always wore.  
"Sorry. I'm sorry."

We were both silent for a moment. He staring at his hands again, and me watching him with a slight smile.

"You aren't the best at apologies, are you Henry?"  
Perhaps it was a bit of a cruel thing to do, both making a joke of his heart-felt apology and insulting him, but it seemed right. After all, this wasn't an apology from lovers or close friends or anything. In fact, the fact that he'd exposed that much and made himself that vulnerable was nothing short of astounding. I had a feeling that the both of us wanted away from the somber mood.

I was rewarded with a smile to match my own,  
"Not really. That's also the most I've said to anyone in years."

People have called me surly and often accuse me of not having a sense of humor; that's just because I often don't see a need. I'm a realistic person—I never really see a need to force humor that I don't truly feel. My time with Mary's sickness had also left me cynical and bitter. I mention this because when I do joke, people often don't get it and just confuse it with my usual sardonic banter.

I doubt Henry knew it, but the fact that he'd understood and joked back made me forget the initial problem. It was just nice to be able to laugh—especially to be able to laugh something that'd been so stressful off.  
"Don't worry about it."  
I said, taking the topic back to his apology.  
"And I'm sorry too."

Henry, who'd been rather adamant about looking anywhere besides me, suddenly looked up at me with a bit of surprise on his otherwise blank face.  
"What for?"  
He asked, his right eyebrow lifting higher towards his hair-line.  
"For grabbing and yelling at you. I was so focused on getting you to open up to me that I didn't stop to think that I was trying to force you to do something against your will. I'm not the best at understanding other people or taking the time to try to."  
I trailed off and looked back up at him. I shrugged my shoulders to show that I didn't know what else to say. He nodded back at me.  
"You don't need to apologize."

In the long run, I was certain that this was the best way I could've become acquainted with Henry. A bit unconventional, yes, but in the misunderstanding we both came to understand the other in a way we may never have through casual conversations. I've never meant to sound philosophical, especially since it was the only class in college I ever failed, but I truly do believe that had things gone my way initially, we would've taken solace in the fact that we had both been tormented by Silent Hill, but never really gotten to know each other past our shared experiences. Maybe I'm wrong—I don't know.

All I do know is that I saw some of his flaws and he saw some of mine. I saw his fear of commitment and abundant trust issues; he saw my temper, surliness, and lack of empathy.

I don't think it takes a PhD to know that the fact that we could overlook those extraordinary character flaws that would turn most people away meant that we had already established a bond—of what kind, I wasn't sure.

With all the perfect timing of a broken clock, Laura decided to call me at that point. I felt the vibrations through the fabric of my jeans and pulled the cell-phone out. I had to squint my eyes to see the illegible words on the bright blue screen. I flipped the phone open and pressed it against my ear.  
"Yeah?"  
I said into the receiver, sending Henry a quick look to let him know I hadn't forgotten about him.  
"Soooo, how did things with Henry go, huh?"  
She asked. She sounded excited—something which both confused and amused me. I'd never seen Laura take a personal interest in the workings of my life, but I suppose it had more to do with the fact that Henry was involved.  
"Want to ask him yourself?"

Laura caught on to what I meant, and promptly hung up after calling me an asshole. I sometimes miss the days when her insults consisted of 'jerk', or 'dumb-head'. I tried my hardest to not curse around her, but I could only censor myself to say 'snot-nosed brat!' once in a while, when my natural reaction to most of the things she did was a very lewd, 'Bitch!'. I have no doubt that her list of obscene insults comes from me. Try explaining that to a 5th grade teacher who looks old enough to be your grandmother.

I shut the silver device and put it back into my pocket.  
"Laura looking for you?"  
He asked, his hands now in his pockets.

"No, but I think we've become her replacement teen drama. The cable in our complex went out last week"  
I was almost startled when Henry not only understood another of my jokes, but responded to it with his own joke,  
"Bummer for her. I'm pretty boring."

I gave a small smile to match his own. It was a bit strange, having such a fluid conversation with a man I'd analyzed as a social reject and partial nut-job just this morning. Most of my conversations with people feel contrived—I only talk to them when there was a necessity to do so, and even then I didn't usually say what I felt.  
"I really should get going, though. I don't trust Laura alone in my apartment for long."  
Henry nodded in turn,  
"I can't blame you."

He began to walk up the pathway and motioned me forward with a nod of his head. Somewhere in the conversation I'd forgotten that we hadn't simply passed by coincidence on the street. He'd come to find me and, now that we were done, was probably heading back to the apartment as well.  
I caught up to him and matched his pace or, at least, I tried to. He was a bit faster than I was.

We walked in silence for a while, the only audible noise coming from our footfalls against the concrete, a few cars whizzing by, and a car horn going off somewhere in the distance. The streets remained a dull gray, each building passed a perfect clone of another in my eyes. The city with its flashing neon signs had become a dull, monotonous thing to me. All the window frames looked the same, the walls, the streets, the roads, even the people in the window looked the same. For lack of anything interesting to focus on, I turned to look at Henry. I'd noticed it even the first time I'd seen him, but I decided to take a closer look since we were so close together and in a comfortable setting; Henry seemed to have perpetual 5 o'clock shadow. Myself, I'd never had a problems with facial hair. Mine grew in an almost unnoticeable blonde, and much slower than most of the other men I knew. I wondered what gene it was that determined how quickly a person's facial hair grew in.

As my mind wandered, stumbling over these thoughts, Henry must've looked over and caught me staring at his cheek. I only know this because when he cleared his throat to grab my attention, he was staring right at me.  
"Tell me about what happened to you in Silent Hill?"

I did. I told him about Mary, Maria, the Pyramid Head, the strange puzzles, the places, and just about everything I could fit into the 20 minute walk. We walked through the apartment lobby without paying attention to the receptionist. I shouldn't say that, though, because I did look over for a moment to catch her dumbfounded expression. We made it up to my room as I was describing my conversation with Angela after she'd thrown her T.V. at the monster she'd imagined to be her dad. I told him I'd tell him the rest later, and to call me when he was free. When I started reaching for a piece of paper to write my number down for him, he told me to not bother. Apparently the receptionist was just thick enough to actually give a stranger my cell-phone number.

And just like that, we parted ways. I went in to my apartment, and I can only assume that he went into his. I managed to force down what Laura explained to be chicken cutlets sautéed in maple syrup. I pretended to like them, which pleased her. If I can stick my hand into a filthy toilet without a second thought, then I can certainly handle maple-chicken.

I can't pretend my day ended there, though. Thoughts about Henry and the day's incidents kept replaying through my mind. They mixed with the thoughts of what lay in store, what I thought about Henry as a person, and how Laura fit into the jumbled mess. Eventually my restless mind became too irritating, and I popped two sleeping pills.


	6. Urgence

_**Urgence  
**(Part One)_

I'm not sure if I was more surprised at Henry or myself.

Despite our usual issues—his being stoicism and mine surliness—neither seemed to be present when we talked.  
I didn't notice it at first, but when I did it was startling. I can't speak for him as to why he dropped his guard around me, but being around him made me feel liberated from myself. I don't mean that he gave me insight or anything such as that, but when I'm around him, I'm very rarely in my head.

I feel like I'm not being very clear, let me rephrase that. For the most part, and most situations, I'm analytical and judicious. I don't even realize I do it most of the time; in that way, I sometimes fail to see the bigger picture, or other people's perspectives. I recognize this, and also see it as one of the reasons people think I'm surly. I spend so much time in my head that I rarely take time to simply appreciate the base nature of something.

I guess it's easiest to say that things were relaxed between Henry and I. There wasn't really any need for me to deeply analyze him, and I can only guess that he began to drop his cold front with the newfound trust he had in me. It was a nice feeling, but also a bit disconcerting. It's a strange responsibility for someone to put their trust on you.

After that first, confrontational meeting, we met in his apartment room the next day. There, I finished my story, and he told me the entirety of his. Our situations were vastly different, but obscurely interconnected in ways.

I know I ought to write about those first conversations. In fact, I can imagine how frustrating it is that I'm not. I just can't say that they're necessary. We sat in his living room, me with a bottle of crème soda and him with a beer, and simply talked. We laughed in places, especially those where the absolutely unbelievable occurred, and we interrupted when something made no sense (which was quite often).

More often than not, we interrupted our story telling with other little side-stories of our lives. As an example, when he was telling me about Walter's fear of dogs, I somehow brought that around to my inclination away from cats, which lead us to the thought of what would happen if cats could turn into zombies, which lead us full-circle to whether or not the mutant dogs Walter saw were more zombies or monsters.  
That's when I discovered that we weren't talking as if we were in a self-help group, trying to unload our problems and get positive reinforcements. We were simply talking. Connecting. It was fun… probably the most fun I've had since that weekend when I took Mary to Silent Hill.

Our conversations were rarely deep; though I wouldn't say they were superficial either. We spoke as we wanted to, not because we had a goal to complete.

One conversation I distinctly remember was one we had on top of the apartment roof. As I recall, it was early in the morning—seeing the sun nestled just over the horizon. From our view, the sun cast long shadows across everything it touched. All of the congregated buildings that expanded across the horizon looked different in the morning sunlight. The roofs were so shimmery and bright they gave off a blinding effect, while the backs of the buildings that faced us were completely shrouded in dark shadows. Even at that early hour the horns of irritated drivers and wailing sirens sounded. Or maybe it was because it was the early hours that led to the irritated drivers.

It was moments like those, while sitting upon the ice-cold cement, that I realized why I loved the city. It was great to get out into the country every once in a while, but the city felt secure to me. It was what I knew, and something that very rarely changed. Aesthetically it held nothing to the grandeur of places like Silent Hill, but it was where I was comfortable.

As to why Henry and I had chosen such an uncomfortable place to meet, it was simply because we'd grown tired of our apartments. We'd been talking for a couple of weeks, alternating between the two rooms. It was rare that we didn't talk in a day, though neither of us made plans in advance. It was usually a matter of a phone call to see if the other was busy.

On the Thursday morning that we met on the roof, I had called Henry. I was going to be chaperoning a field trip for Laura's class over the next two days and wanted to talk to him before leaving.

I wasn't used to waking up so early. I rarely woke up before noon. After initially getting a job at the bar, I'd tried to wake up early enough to be able to see Laura off to school—that hadn't lasted long. Maybe if she'd been appreciative I would've, but she treated me as if I wasn't even there anyways.

My mouth felt dry, and tasted like the remnants of morning breath mixed with some dull orange tinge—as if I'd thrown up and taken a mint. My eyes were having trouble staying open. I looked over at Henry and was glad to see that it was the same for him. I'd felt irritable upon waking up, and the feeling hadn't ebbed away. It was only slightly lifted by the knowledge that Henry was willing to go through it with me.

Henry eventually broke the silence with a sigh. He leaned back against the wall of the doorway and crossed his hands behind his head for support.  
"My sister called me yesterday."  
He stated, looking out towards the sun. I tried to follow suit, but the sun hurt my eyes. I focused on the back of one of the buildings instead.  
"Yeah?"  
I responded.  
Henry nodded,  
"Yeah. She still wants me to become a Christian."  
I vaguely remembered Henry telling me about his sister. As I recall, she was in one of the childhood stories he'd told me. She'd walked in on him having sex with his girlfriend at the time, which also happened to be his first time having sex. She yelled that they were both blasphemers and told his parents. Apparently what followed was an awkward conversation—one that Henry eventually grew so tired of that he simply stood up, denounced his religion complacently, and walked out of the room.

The thought of religion brought me back to Silent Hill. I'd learned a lot about The Order through Henry, who apparently had read a few of the scriptures from their holy documents. I'd never been religious, but that thought stopped me for a moment.  
"If I had to believe in a religion, it would be The Order's."  
I said, not stopping to think about my words.  
As I should've expected, Henry quickly turned to look at me to see if I was joking. He realized I wasn't,  
"What?"  
He stated. If Henry was less of an introverted stoic, I imagine he would've sounded flabbergasted.  
"Hear me out. I'm not saying their way is ethical or moral, but it's real. We're proof of that. All other religions are based on beliefs, and reading a book about things that might've happened once some thousand years ago. But the cult? You told me what Walter Sullivan managed through it. The guy died, but lived on to complete his holy sacraments. No one has proof of there being an afterlife besides The Order."  
It made perfect sense to me. I looked over to see his reaction. He thought about it for a moment before nodding at the realization.  
"And you, with the town calling you and the false memories?"  
I yawned as I nodded in response.  
"Don't forgot those… monsters. The pain they inflicted was real, and the pain I inflicted on them was real."  
We'd discussed the monsters frequently. We tried to decipher what they had meant in Walter's imagination, and I'd tactfully managed to avoid most conversation about mine, besides that pyramid head. I wasn't looking forward to explaining the mannequin leg creatures.  
"I'm not going to join the Order, though."  
Henry responded.  
"I wasn't asking you to."  
Henry half-heartedly extended an arm and tapped my shoulder, in a less enthusiastic rendition of a good-natured arm punch.  
"I know, I was kidding"  
The both of us were silent for a moment. I closed my eyes and rested my head against the back of the wall behind me.  
"If you ever do join the Order, just don't take me with you to their paradise, okay?"  
I joked, my voice barely above a whisper. The gentle warmth of the sun was nearly putting me to sleep again.  
"Will you at least let me use you as one of my sacraments?"  
He asked back, causing me to let out an involuntary laugh.  
"Which one would you let me be?"  
I asked back, too focused on the conversation and not falling asleep to care that the conversation had suddenly turned very nonsensical.  
"I don't know."  
He muttered. I felt him shift positions beside me, but didn't look to see what he was doing.  
"How about the mother reborn?"  
He asked after a moment. I cracked open one eye to glance at him.  
"Perfect"

Over the next thirty minutes, we talked about what we were both going to be doing over the next few days. I told him about the field trip I was going on. He commented on how I was probably going to feel like the fat kid in school. I asked what he meant, and he responded by telling me that all of the other parents chaperoning knew each other, or at least knew of each other through their children—they were all going to be wary of me.

I left the roof-top with a sense of foreboding and dread.

* * *

**AN:**  
My notes are coming afterwards this time. For no better reason other than not wanting to scroll back to the top of this.

I know it's short. There are about 9 more pages to this, but I didn't feel like going through those 9 pages and editing it. Plus, I'm working off of my friends' computer with my flash drive, and I don't feel like taking up much more time. I think she already thinks that I'm just using her for her word processor. :]

With that said, I honestly don't have time to respond to any of the critiques, or to really proofread. Sorry all, but I do appreciate them.

But hey, at least this chapter finally has dialogue. Haha. Dialogue, if you couldn't tell by now, is not my forte. I'm good at analyzing and portraying characters (to a fault, even. As the Mobled Queen (whom I love for her consistent critiques. I'll have to find some way to repay you one day…) pointed out, I do have a tendency of beating a dead horse, so to speak, when it comes to analyzing characters. ). But I am trying to make my dialogue more prominent, and less contrived. If it wasn't so embarrassing, I'd have a friend do the voice of Henry while I did James and speak the lines out loud, just to see if it sounds believable. Hell. I just might do that.

Now, for a sniveling plea:  
Does anyone know of an active Silent Hill roleplaying forum? As I've been writing this, I keep thinking that it would be good practice if I could try being one of the characters in a roleplay. Also for fun, but that should be obvious. I'm not really sure where else to ask/look…

Mkay, that's it. Once again, sorry for the short chapter. But then again, I did say that I wasn't going to update this week, so I guess a small update is better than none at all. Maybe.

Good Night~


	7. Vergence

**_Vergence_**

3 a.m. isn't normally a time that I actually get to see. Usually by that time, I'm completely unconscious in my bed.

That's exactly where I was until I was awoken by feverish knocking at my door. The sound startled me awake with a groan. I tried to focus my blurry eyes on something in the intangible darkness, but only the movement of my ceiling fan came into vision.  
The knocking continued after a short pause.

I tried to maneuver sluggishly through my room. My hand fumbled around my bedroom wall in a desperate search for the switch. I only really started to rush when I heard my name shouted, and recognized the speaker as James.  
"Hold on, James."  
I said back.  
I made my way through my apartment, accidently nicking my knee on my desk. Despite the throbbing pain, I hobbled over to the door and opened it hastily. I normally wouldn't have rushed, but if the level-headed James was having a panic attack outside of my door at this ungodly hour of the morning, something must've been very wrong.

I squinted to make out his form but he didn't give me any time. He pushed his way into my apartment and closed the door behind him. Even in the dark he quickly made his way over to my living room; he'd managed to memorize the layout of my apartment in the weeks we'd known each-other. I wasn't impressed or anything—my apartment is tiny and plain.

He flicked on my living room light. The sudden illumination burned my unadjusted eyes, forcing me to shut them immediately.  
"Sorry to wake you up."

I cracked one of my eyes open.  
"It's okay."  
I mumbled, following him into the room. He sat down on the couch, and as my eyes finally finished adjusting, I realized that James looked frazzled—more than I'd ever seen him.  
"Are you…alright?"  
I asked, walking over and taking a seat in my ratty arm-chair.  
Through the haze, things were becoming clearer in my mind. I remembered that for the past two days, James had been on a field-trip... visiting an animal farm and a theme park? What could've caused James to panic at places like that?

"James?"  
I prodded, trying to get a reaction.

"I had sex with her teacher."

Of all the things I was anticipating, that wasn't something I'd been prepared for. I stared at him for a moment, my mind too foggy to respond immediately.  
I finally came out of the stupor and looked over at him. I couldn't think of what to say. In high school, a statement like that would've warranted a high-five. Since James looked like he was on the verge of breaking down, I safely ruled that option out.  
"Did you use a condom?"

He finally looked up at me with a confused expression. What I was implying set in after a moment.  
"Yeah, of course. That…isn't what this is about, though."

With pregnancy out of the picture, I was really struggling to see what the matter could be. James was kind of vain, but I was almost certain that it didn't have anything to do with her appearance.  
He looked up at me and sighed,  
"You don't see anything dangerous about this? What if Laura suffers because of it?"

That made more sense. I often forgot, with all of the ragging he did about her, that James loved Laura.

James leaned against the back of my couch and was silent for a moment. With each moment spent in silence, I felt myself grow ever closer to falling back asleep on James. So when he didn't say anything else, I asked,  
"How'd it happen?"

James closed his eyes as he let his head rest against my couch.  
"It happened on the second day."  
James bit his bottom lip before continuing.  
"Laura's teacher is this mean, frigid woman. The whole time we were there, all she did was nag all of the other parents. It was…painful to watch. I stood up for one of the mom's once. You should've seen the look she gave me. The students around all stared at us like they were prepared to watch a massacre."  
James let out a quick laugh,  
"The way she glared at me, I can't say I blame them."

He was losing me quickly. I definitely wouldn't say I'm dumb, but Henry's lead-up was really confusing. He had sex with an ice-queen who was bitching out the other parents? I was waiting for him to say how incredibly sexy she was, or something that justified his action.

He sighed again and lifted a hand to his right temple. He rubbed the area as he spoke,  
"Sorry, I'm rambling."

James slowly lifted himself to sit upright.  
James placed his fingertips against his forehead and pulled them down to the bottom of his lips, where he let them rest. It was then that I noticed how pale he was. The bags under his eyes looked oily, and his cheeks more shallow and taut against his bone-structure than ever.

Whatever had happened was having an effect on him. I was starting to get really worried.

"Would you mind if I stayed the night?"  
I was surprised by the question, and I'm sure it showed.  
"I could just crash on your couch."  
It took a moment for me to realize that he was completely serious.  
I shrugged,  
"That's fine…but what about Laura?"  
A look of relief seemed to wash over James. It somehow lightened the effects of his fatigue.

"Laura's at a friend's house."  
James responded, his words mingling with a sigh.

I let out an "ah", but could think of nothing else to say. A silence passed between us. I guess James just wanted to drop the matter, and I didn't know how to change the topic; or even what I would change it to.

Rather than endure the impending awkward silence, I stood up and walked to my room—only tripping over my feet once.

I was torn between what I wanted. On one hand, I was worried about him and truly did want to talk him through his problems. On the other, I was dead tired. I tried to convince myself that I could worry about both—he must've been tired, too, so getting him to sleep and forget his problems would be the best thing for him too.

I could barely think straight as I grabbed the comforter off of my bed. I wondered why James didn't just go home. He seemed to have calmed down, which I presume is why he came over, so what was keeping him? I would've imagined that he would have a party without Laura there.

Unfortunately my mind was too zapped to think about anything too complex. I just grabbed one pillow with my free hand and walked back into the living room. I tried to manage a smile when his eyes met mine and handed the objects forward.

He took the pillow first, but shot the blanket an incredulous look. I didn't blame him—it was about 98 degrees outside. I tossed it towards him anyways.  
"Don't look at me like that. It's not crazy to offer a guest a blanket."  
James chuckled in response, setting the blanket down on the couch.  
"Thanks."  
He said, standing up to straighten out his sleeping arrangement.

I felt awkward standing there and simply watching him, but it didn't feel quite right leaving him there to deal with things himself. He was obviously in a bad place if he'd come over in a panic at 3 a.m. and would rather sleep on my couch than his own bed. I know I could've easily gone to bed and fallen asleep and left James to his own devices but I decided to stay—at least until he fell asleep.  
"Do you need anything else? You can borrow some clothes if you want…"  
I felt out of place asking, but I don't know anyone who enjoys sleeping in jeans and a bulky jacket.

James laid on his newly-made bed, propping his head up with the pillow to be able to look at me.  
"Sure, and while we're at it, you can lay next to me so I can braid your hair while we spoon and tell each other our make-up secrets."  
He left one eye cracked slightly open as he spoke to me. It was an amusing image, but I was more preoccupied with the fact that he was making fun of me.

"You're a horrible guest."  
I muttered darkly to the man, taking a seat in my arm-chair.

James smirked back. He crossed his legs and sighed, scooting down so more of his back was against the couch.  
"You're a wonderful host."  
I was confused by his response, but I was also too frazzled to really decipher his meaning. I'm still not sure whether I was being insulted or complimented.

As tired as I was, I must've passed out on the arm-chair at some point. When I was next conscious, James was asleep and a bit of light was peering through my dirty windows. I turned my head to look at the clock, the action causing a sharp pain to erupt on the left side of my neck. I rubbed fruitlessly at the spot as I looked at the face, squinting in the darkness to locate the hands. It was a bit too dark to tell, but it seemed to be just about 4.

Though I was reluctant to move, my stiff joints let me know that more hours in the chair wouldn't do my body well.  
Feeling like a man more aged than I really was, I managed to push my way from the plush of the chair and over to James' couch. Maybe it was just my delusional mind at that hour, but the moonlight seemed to be peering through the window at just the right angle to illuminate James' form. I walked quietly forward until I was right at his side. As I hovered over the man, I couldn't help but smile. James looked peaceful in his sleep—almost like a corpse, really. He was completely silent and still; the only indication that he was still alive being the almost unnoticeable lift and fall of his chest under his shirt.

I gently put the tips of my index and middle finger against his forehead, brushing a few strands of hair that'd fallen out of place back into place.  
"You'll be fine."  
I whispered, before finally staggering to my room and falling asleep.

As it would turn out, my half-slurred comment was right. James was fine. In fact, the next morning, I had only my memories to let me know that James' panic attack had actually happened the night prior. That, of course, and the fact that said man was in my kitchen making pancakes when I woke up the next day. I tried my hardest to not make a joke about what a good wife he was, but I failed.

Over the next week I saw James nearly every day. His improvement was exponential. By the end of the week the pale, shallow-faced mental case was back to looking and feeling normal. It seemed as though Laura didn't know, which meant that the teacher hadn't done or said anything to her.

This relief was short-lived for me. I hadn't had the strength to say so to anyone, but I was in trouble—big trouble. I hadn't balanced my budget for a while. Not for lack of time or motivation, but for fear. I knew what the numbers would say without needing to crunch them. My newest job paid about half of what my old one had. I had run out of money I'd saved up, and with rent coming, I was going to be short. Even if Frank allowed me to skip on it, which was doubtful given his opinion of me, I wouldn't be able to pay in another month. And since my chances of receiving more hours at work were close to nothing, I was out of options.

I had no idea what I was going to do.

* * *

AN:  
Still no writing device. Wrote this in an email to myself, saved it on a school computer, and am now going to try and upload it.  
Eggh. There are about 15 pages before this that detail exactly what happened on the field trip from James' point of view, but I'm deciding to leave them out. They really aren't necessary. In fact, James pretty accurately sums them up in this chapter. All you need to know is that James fucked the teacher. Who is an ice queen. Hahaha.

Not my best work, but I did this in a rush. Trying to get to chapters with a bit more substance to them. But first I need to wade through all of the trivial things to get it there.

Also, I'm out of words that end in –ergence. Now I'm going to start making up words.


End file.
